


But I'll Be With You Wherever You Are

by aimmyarrowshigh, spibsy (lucy_and_ramona)



Series: Never Never Never Stop for Anyone (Sheylinsonverse) [9]
Category: One Direction (Band), Union J (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Collars, Comeplay, Confined/Caged, Dissociation, Dom/sub, Double Penetration, Exhibitionism, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Overstimulation, Polyamory, Rimming, Rough Oral Sex, Sex Shop, Size Kink, Tattoo Kink, Threesome - M/M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2013-05-24
Packaged: 2017-12-12 20:15:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 99,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/815579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aimmyarrowshigh/pseuds/aimmyarrowshigh, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucy_and_ramona/pseuds/spibsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The final week for Union J and George on the X Factor passes, and to cheer George up, Harry and Louis go all out with a trip to see their biggest show ever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> **Character/Relationships** : Harry/Louis/George Shelley  
>  **Other mentioned pairings** : Aiden Grimshaw/Nick Grimshaw, Liam/Danielle Peazer, Zayn/Perrie Edwards, Jaymi/Olly  
>  **Warnings** : Explicit sexual content (slash [oral sex, penetrative sex, threesome, size!kink, unprotected sex, comeplay, overstimulation, rimming, fingering, felching (Lucy prefers "snowbutting"), voyeurism, exhibitionism, deep-throating/gagging/choking, DP, 69]; use of sex toys; videotaping of sex acts (consensual/known); and graphic sexual dialogue. Heavy D/s elements (voice command, speech/motion restrictions, orgasm control/denial, collaring, caging, ownership, deep subspace; mentions of leashes/petplay, pain!kink (tattooing); no impact play. Dissociation (no panic state/no sub!drop). _Mentions of ED recovery_. There are non-sexual mentions of lepidoptera in the first part, too.  
>  **Disclaimer** : We don't own anything. No claim of knowledge or veracity is made towards anyone in the story and no aspersions or claims of character are to be inferred. We have no connection nor permissions from One Direction, X-Factor, Crown Management, RCA, Sony, ITV, or AlphaDog Management, OR SyCo Inc., Columbia Records, or any other affiliated parties. No libel intended.  
>  **Notes** : Hope you like it if you're still around reading! This is not as real-world compliant, timeline-wise, as the other installments, and we frankly don't care because we enjoyed writing it. It's AU anyway, so just, it's fine.

** But I'll Be With You Wherever You Are **

In the last week of live shows – well, the second-to-last, but all of Union J know it will be their last – George gets a bit maudlin. Louis and Harry have flown off to America because they didn’t fail the X Factor at all and have conquered the world, so he’s been alone and celibate and kissless and is really quite sad about it, but he’s also minus an Ella and minus a Rylan and still saddled with a Christopher Baloney, so things are mostly awful around the Corinthia. And George is – well, he’s wallowing. And he does like a good wallow, but it’s gone too far now and made him depressed about the near-year coming that he’ll be alone and an X Factor failure like this. Louis and Harry help how they can, and the J’s do, as well, but there’s only so much to be done when your boyfriends are halfway across the Earth.

Even though Reception has called up to George- and Jaymi's room at the same time every day so far this week, it's still a surprise when the hotel phone rings at two o'clock with the notification that they both have packages waiting at the bell desk.

Jaymi laughs and slips off of his bed. "Shouldn't still be surprised, should I?" he asks, running his fingers through the front of his hair. They weren't doing anything, just having a chat and enjoying the brief downtime they've got before they'll have to whiz off to do another photoshoot or rehearsal or something. 

George doesn't have a problem working hard to get farther in the competition, of course he doesn't – it just feels a bit pointless, when everyone knows they'll be going home.

It isn't even defeatist to think so. It's just... maths.

It's not fair, and George always feels like he's being petulant when he thinks it, but it's really not fair. They're better than Chris. They just _are_ , they're better and they work harder and they deserve this more than him, because Chris is, he's a dick. 

And his nan's really sweet and all, but so is Jaymi, and so are JJ and Josh, and him, and George just, he just wishes that they could get third. He wouldn't mind losing to James, and seeing Jahmene achieve his dreams would be George's pleasure. But losing to Christopher... leaves a bad taste in George's mouth.

And it has nothing at all to do with the thought of getting to the final and being able to sing live onstage with Harry and Louis (and the other three, he supposes) because that would just be the icing on the cake, and Christopher leaving would be just the cake itself. 

Maybe he's hungry.

Maybe he'll get room service after they pick up their packages.

They make really good cake, or he seems to remember. 

He's knocked out of his musing of cake, and whether or not a cake with Christopher's face iced on would taste any good, by Jaymi thwapping him on the shoulder. He has a frown on his face like he's been trying to get George's attention for a while.

George blinks. "Sorry, what?"

"I asked if you're going to need the room again," Jaymi says. "Like on Monday."

George goes pink, because on Monday, the package waiting for him at reception had been a hot pink vibrator. But that had only been Monday; yesterday, Louis and Harry had just sent him a shirt.

"Er, I don't actually know?" he says sheepishly. There's no way of knowing what gift he'll be receiving from day to day. The first time had been dirty, but yesterday's was innocuous. He suspects Harry and Louis like keeping him on his toes.

Jaymi rolls his eyes and shakes his head. "I'll bear it in mind and try not to get too comfortable, then."

"Sorry," George replies, his mouth twisting. He doesn't like inconveniencing Jaymi, even if he does tend to just sigh and pop over to Josh- and JJ's. It can't be fun to have to leave the room because George's – it's weird to think of them as his boyfriends – because George's, well, George's _HarryandLouis_ want to give him something to put up his bum.

Jaymi hooks his arm around George's neck and pulls him down for a perfunctory kiss to the top of his head. "Don't be sorry, Georgie. I don't mind it. I know it's hard now that they're gone."

George's mouth twists a little more. It's not like he could forget, but he does try not to think about how Harry and Louis are about a million miles away in a whole different country. He's happy for them, because he knows them playing Madison Square Garden is about as big as it gets, but there's still a selfish part of him that wishes they could be here for him.

"Yeah," he ends up whispering, sounding altogether pathetic. He clears his throat. "Better when they send me presents, though, isn't it?" he adds, trying to sound as upbeat as possible.

"It did sound that way through the wall on Monday." Jaymi presses the button on the elevator, nonchalant as you please.

George sputters out a, "Shh-shh!" which isn't one of his more articulate defenses, and covers his face.

Jaymi just grins and pulls George's head down again for a little cuddle all the way down to the lobby.

It's nice, now that he knows he's _allowed_ to have cuddles from Jaymi. He likes knowing if he ever just wants a hug or something, there's someone there who can accommodate him. Everyone needs a cuddle every now and again, and George knows he's needed them more often since he hasn't had Harry or Louis around. It's just – he needs to touch people.

And, well, Ella's gone. And Rylan's gone, too, although he spent most of his time begging cuddles off James. So Jaymi is good; George likes Jaymi and he's got quite a cuddly shape to him.

"You can still tell me to fuck off if you want to, though," George says finally, still through his hands, but it's actual words, which is progress. "It's your room, too."

Jaymi smiles a little sadly at him, and George follows across the lobby floor. "Not for much longer. I'll miss sharing with you."

"Positivity," mumbles George. It's a sad day when even Jaymi's given up on them making it past this week. Reasonable, of course, but still sad. "Maybe Liverpool will blow up."

Jaymi looks perturbed. "You are a morbid man, Shelley."

"I said maybe!" George protests. "Not that I, like, that I hoped it would, or anything. But it _could_. Anything could blow up, in theory. Apart from cockroaches."

"Why can't cockroaches blow up?" Jaymi asks. He waves to the bell clerk, and there's a flurry of riffling papers and boxes as their packages are unearthed. "Is this one of your trivia bits from late-night documentaries?"

"I suppose they could blow up," George muses. "But they'd probably survive a nuclear war. And then form a new empire of cockroaches."

"Sounds like Liverpool," Jaymi agrees. "Or at least the part of Liverpool voting for Chris."

"Cockroaches." George wrinkles his nose. "Obviously haven't got taste."

"That's pretty much the whole theory of cockroaches, as I understand it." Jaymi smiles at reception as he receives a massive armful of flowers in a clean white china base shaped like a teapot. Olly's been sending him bouquets every day this week for good luck.

Such an ordinary gift, flowers. Harry sent George a Burberry shirt (blue with massive white hearts all over; he has no designs on when he'll ever be able to pull off wearing it, really) and Louis clearly spent a lot of time picking out the right, well, sex toys for George's bum, but.

Flowers are just such a couple thing. George couldn't get Josh flowers, for example, without getting a weird look and maybe Josh avoiding him for a few days. But when you're half of a couple, it's... romantic. It's really romantic.

Then again, George doesn't see himself getting Josh a vibrator or fancy shirt, either. But it's in the _context_ , he thinks.

It's a stupid thing to think about. He doesn't care that Harry and Louis send him vibrators instead of flowers. Vibrators are more fun, anyway. Can't fuck yourself with a flower.

Well. Maybe you could. Be weird, though. You'd probably end up on the Darwin Awards from an allergy or something.

All the same. The look on Jaymi's face whenever he gets more flowers, it's like – it's nice. It's the sort of look that Louis gets whenever Harry does... anything.

George imagines it's not far from the look on his face around them either, but that's neither here nor there.

It's just, he wants – it'd be nice if they wanted him to get _that_ look from the gifts they send, instead of just his orgasm face, which George doesn't think is actually all that attractive. It's mostly just pink.

But he doesn't care, really. He doesn't. It's not important. They've said – they've said, and he's said, and they all know where everyone stands. It's fine. Everything's totally fine. He doesn't need any flowers.

It's a different kind of love, he thinks, and ignores that his brain apparently is made of song lyrics from the 1970s when he isn't paying attention. 

Jaymi gets a bouquet of laurel and lavender today. It's all very sweet, and George turns his wistful sigh into a cough. No use in that at all.

He has something nice coming to him, too. Unless it's another box full of hair from fan, or whatever, but it's probably not.

It's not another vibrator, either, unless it's bloody massive, which George actually wouldn't put past them. Maybe it's made of chocolate. Okay, he's definitely hungry. The box is too big, anyway, white and about the size of George's entire torso.

"Whatever that is," Jaymi says, "I'm a little afraid of it."

"It's not cockroaches, I don't think," George replies offhand. He's a little afraid of it, too, definitely too afraid to open it in the lobby. He hefts it in his arms and it isn't very heavy. Definitely not a massive chocolate vibrator, then. He's a little disappointed.

"Shall we open it upstairs so I can explain what it is again if you don't understand?" Jaymi asks. He sounds a little smug. "Although if they've sent you a plug bigger than your entire body, I don't recommend using it."

George makes the weird _shh-shh_ noise again. He's not at his best this morning. He's also bright red, which he thinks was probably Jaymi's goal.

George tries shaking the box gingerly in the elevator, and it doesn't rattle, although it does make noise. Nothing alive then, which is good, and probably nothing dead, as that definitely doesn't seem their type.

"They wouldn't send me dead cockroaches, would they?" George says aloud. He shakes his head. No, they wouldn't, and in addition to that, he's now a little concerned that the lack of real sex is affecting his brain.

Jaymi just blinks at him. "I don't even _want_ to know what sort of play you get up to these days, mate."

"Normal stuff, I promise. When there is stuff," George grumbles. He misses dicks that aren't his own.

Jaymi unlocks their door with the keycard held in his teeth – George is very impressed – and leads the way into their room. It's not as messy as Josh and JJ's room (although George suspects that no room has ever been as messy as their room short of special features on _Hoarders_ ) but it still takes a fair bit of effort to pick a path across the floor to their beds.

George sits with his legs folded underneath him and gives the box a good lookover. It's not an animal (certainly not dead cockroaches) and it's not a giant chocolate cock. He has no idea what it could be, then.

Jaymi sets his flowers in a bit of bare space on the nightstand and bounds onto their makeshift double bed. "Let's see it, then. Have at."

"Do they make inflatable buttplugs?" George asks. If they did, he's sure Jaymi would know.

Jaymi's brow furrows. "Not sure. That seems more like a Rylan question."

"Can't ask Rylan." George frowns. He could probably text him, actually, but he's not. Willing to do that. "Okay, I'm opening it now."

He shimmies the lid up and grumbles when it's harder to get off than he's expecting.

His heart flip-flop flutters in his chest and does something very strange that makes him make a squeaky little noise, but he can't be embarrassed.

"Oh, wow," says Jaymi as he peers into the box. "Jesus, must be nice dating popstars."

The box is filled with what seems like endless roses, red ones, like a cliché from a movie. The box isn't small by any means and there are enough roses inside it that George could probably have a rose petal bath if he were so inclined.

He might be so inclined. It's always looked very ritzy in films. But he'll wait until they start wilting, because they're too gorgeous right now to want to kill them all by plucking their petals. 

George touches one and it's not like he thought they were fake, but the velvety smoothness of the petal is still startling. "Wow," he mumbles, rubbing his thumb lightly over the stem.

"Red roses mean 'true love,' you know," Jaymi comments. "I suppose there isn't a color that means 'we love your bum most of all,' though. Those are quite pretty. You must have like four dozen in there."

"Yeah, there's a shitload of them," George mutters. He's not even sure of what he's saying. There are so many roses and red roses mean 'true love' and George. George has no idea if he even has a face anymore.

Jaymi kisses George's cheek and slides off the bed. "I'll give you the room."

George only remembers to say _thank you_ when Jaymi's nearly out the door, so mesmerized by the sheer number of roses in the box. How could they have known his thoughts before he even had them?

It's probably early in New York. Maybe too early to ring them, but George wants to try, at least. He has to thank them.

If nothing else, maybe he can leave a message blubbering at them. Louis might at least find that funny.

Because he does feel like that. Blubbering.

It's easiest to dial Harry, because Harry's before Louis in the alphabet and because Harry's always got his phone on him, so he's more likely to answer.

Also he's less likely to burst into tears the second he hears Harry's voice, although it's not a completely risk-free plan. But Louis – well, it's so hard to impress Louis and he's spent less non-naked time with Louis and it's just, Louis' so _Louis_ about everything while Harry is _Harry_ about it all, and –

"Hello?" comes Harry's voice. It's not raspy-grumbly like it is when he's just woken up, so George didn't do that, at least. He actually sounds rather peppy. "Georgie?"

George swallows twice. "I – hi."

"Did you get our present today?" Harry asks. "And I never talked to you yesterday; did you like the shirt?"

He has to cough before he can answer at all. "Uh, yes, shirt was lovely. Reminded me of you a lot, actually."

"I love it," Harry agrees. "I think you'll look swanky in it."

"Swanky?"

"Let me say it while Louis isn't listening. He doesn't let me say 'swanky,' or 'sensational,' for some reason."

"Alright, I'll look swanky, then." George laughs, and then he catches another glimpse of the flowers and chokes on it. "You, er. You got me roses?" It comes out as a question.

"Yeah!" Harry agrees. "They showed up alright, then? Not dead or anything?"

"No, no, they're beautiful. They're perfect." George swallows again. "They're – thank you. Thank you so much."

Harry doesn't defer and say _it's nothing_. George thinks that he can probably tell that it isn't nothing to George. "You're welcome, sweetheart."

And there it is; that pet name still makes George feel squirmy and delighted even though Harry's used it several times since the first time. It's just, it's so, it makes George happy.

"Thank you," he repeats. "I – no one's got me flowers before. Probably goes without saying." He pauses. "Did you pick them out, or Louis?"

"We both went to the shop. Did you know there's a billion kinds of roses?" Harry asks, a smile in his voice. "The florist tried to explain all the meanings of them to us but those are the ones that stuck. We thought they were appropriate."

"That's – Jaymi mentioned," George says. "What they mean. Erm, true – love? I guess? Is that what you were told? Maybe it's different in America."

"No, it's the same in America." Harry sounds like there's a giggle caught in his throat. "Thought they'd suit you."

George can't help giggling at that (story of his life). "That's really cheesy, Harry."

" _Hey_ ," says Harry, all false indignation. "I'm trying to be romantic here. I'd've delivered them to you myself but, you know, ocean."

"Gets in the way of everything," George agrees. "How are things for you? Preparing for the big show?"

"Yeah!" Harry nearly shouts, or it sounds like it anyway. "We've still got a million rehearsals to get it exactly right, but it's going really well."

George bites his lip and grins. "That's really exciting. Wish I could see it. Madison Square Garden, that's like – proper huge."

"Yeah, it's basically like, the biggest stage we'll ever play. Wish you could be here, love." Harry sounds exhilarated and George aches with how much he misses him.

George swallows. "I'm just trying to hang on long enough to get to Manchester Central, myself."

"You will, you know." Harry's voice softens a little. "You guys are so good, and you deserve to get to the final."

"Doesn't always work that way, does it?" George mumbles. "Ella should be here this week."

"And maybe we should've won, our year," acknowledges Harry. "You're right, sometimes it doesn't happen how you want it to. Doesn't mean you give up, does it?"

"No," George agrees. "I think we have good songs. They're both a bit sad and desperate, but at least they'll be like, emotionally honest."

Harry actually clucks, like a concerned grandmother. It's equal parts endearing and bewildering. "We'll be rooting for you."

"I know." George is quiet because he doesn't have to be loud anymore, doesn't have to insist about it. He knows that Harry and Louis are rooting for him – no matter what Louis may tweet after the show, because doubtless James and Jahmene will warrant effusive public praise, George knows that they're in his corner.

"Hey, I think Lou'll be back in a little while. Do you want to Skype, maybe, or have you got monkey things to do?" asks Harry.

George grins. "Monkey business is a 24/7 lifestyle. But I would like to Skype, sure."

Harry sounds so happy about it that George knows it was the right thing to say. He thinks that maybe – maybe it's not just him, who misses them when they go off to do famous people things. Maybe they miss him just as much, even though they've got each other.

It's a nice thought. A few days is no match for _eight months_ , of course, but it's still a nice thought.

He boots up his computer after saying his goodbyes to Harry, which are shortlived as they know they'll be talking again in about a minute. Making himself comfortable on the bed, he pulls up Skype and selects Harry's number. The ringtone makes him smile. He thinks proper phones should have that ringtone as well, it's much more exciting.

He could probably download it, really. It seems like it'd go well with emojis, and he does love emojis.

It doesn't take long for Harry to answer, and seeing him makes George sigh almost audibly. It's not like he can't just see a picture of Harry any time, he's sort of an international superstar, but it's different when it's just them. Better.

Harry waves cheerfully. He's only wearing his pants, of course, because when does Harry ever wear more than that unless they're in a crowd?

"Hi," says George. The roses are still right next to him and they smell all floral and there's so many of them it's given him a sort of headache but like hell he's moving them.

"Hello, love," Harry says. "You aren't wearing the shirt."

"Would you like me to put it on?" George asks. He already feels a little more than happy. He likes it when Harry tells him what to do.

"That's alright," Harry says. "It's a real pisser to iron it again, so you can wait until a special occasion. Maybe the show next week."

George tries a smile. It's nice of Harry to at least pretend there's a chance of them making it to next week.

"Chin up, Georgie," Harry says. "So you like the roses?"

"Yes, I love them." George perks up a little. "They're perfect, I wasn't expecting them at all. There hasn't really been a theme to these things, has there?"

"Sure there has," Harry says, "They're all very romantic things we thought would make you happy. Maybe in different ways. Did you like Monday's gift?"

George does his best to stay the same color he normally is. He doesn't think it's working, if his face heating is any indication. "Uh, yeah. Yes. Thank you, it was really – nice isn't quite the word, is it?"

"Could be nice," Harry muses. "I'd hoped it'd be a bit more than 'nice,' but I guess we can find something bigger."

George bites his lip. The vibrator had been good-sized, not as big as Harry, of course, or even Louis, but bigger than his fingers, enough to stretch. He could probably go bigger. Definitely, he could go bigger.

"Might be nice," he hedges. "Er, might be... more-than-nice. But I did like it; thank you."

Harry's smiling now, and George misses him so much. "You're very welcome. We hope you like tomorrow's present, too."

"Oh?" George perks up a little. "What's that?"

"You'll just have to wait and see, won't you?" The sound of a door closing is faintly audible in the background, and George can tell by Harry's expression that Louis' just come back to the room. 

"Hello, love," Harry murmurs, looking off to the side of the webcam. "Talking to Georgie."

"George?" Louis' voice rings. "I wanna talk to George."

Harry shuffles over a little and then Louis is on the screen, all blue eyes and damp fringe. Maybe he was in the shower, or the gym, or something. Wherever he was, he looked damn good while he was there.

He has scruff on his chin, and George likes it. Somehow it's always surprising just how manly Louis is, but really, he's probably one of the manlier-looking people George knows. Him and Jaymi, maybe, on account of Jaymi being so hairy.

"Hi," says Louis, grinning. "We've missed you, babe. Did you get our present for today?"

George's face glows hot and he bites his lip, nodding. "Yes, thank you. I think it's my favorite."

"Fitting, since you're our favorite." Louis hooks an arm around Harry's neck. "And how many awful cheesy jokes has Harry made since I wasn't watching?"

"None as bad as that one," George reports. "But we haven't been talking long."

"I'm sure he would've managed if I'd taken longer." Louis' hand moves into Harry's hair without much thought. "I'm glad you like them, though. The man at the shop took ages explaining them to us."

George nods and looks down at the box of roses still spread over his lap. "Yeah, I – thank you. Same to you, and all that."

Louis looks distinctly amused. "You're very cute, you know," he tells George. "You're welcome. I'm just glad you do like them. We weren't sure if you might be allergic or not."

George shakes his head. "I wouldn't care even if I were. Are people actually allergic to roses? That's tragic."

"Well, flowers, which roses are," says Louis. "I didn't think you were. For future reference, though, we should probably know what you are allergic to. Don't want to get you, I don't know, something with peanuts in and accidentally murder you."

"Would you believe me if I said I'm allergic to moths?" George asks. "Because I really hate them. And scorpions. I was nearly killed by one once in Costa Rica."

"I think everyone's allergic to scorpions, aren't they?" Harry asks. "That's like, the point of them."

"Yeah, that's called being poisonous, I think, when everyone's allergic to something," Louis replies. He still looks amused. "I don't think you can be allergic to moths, though. I'll be sure not to get you one, just in case."

George giggles. "Thank you. I'll take flowers whenever the whim for moths strikes you, to be honest."

"Maybe I'll get the urge to get you moths more often, then." Louis leans his head against Harry's shoulder. "Every day, in fact. That's an awful lot of flowers as replacement moths."

"Stop talking about it," George asks a little desperately. "I want to enjoy my flowers without worrying about them taking flight."

"Of course." Louis hasn't stopped smiling at all. George likes when Louis smiles. His eyes get these crinkly lines next to them and his nose scrunches a little and it's all very attractive. "No more moths for Georgie."

George scowls a little and knows it looks ridiculous.

"Are you alone, love?" asks Louis, his voice lower and with a smokiness to it. "Or is Jaymi there?"

"I'm alone," George confirms. "He said I could have the room, but he didn't say how long."

"You tried out the present from Monday, yeah?" Louis says. "Was that the last time you touched yourself?"

"Erm, no," George admits. "This morning in the shower, too. I was bored."

Louis raises his eyebrows. "You can go again, though. Can't you?" He doesn't really ask. It sounds more like an instruction.

George nods quickly. "Yeah, I can. I promise."

"Good boy." Louis seems satisfied. "Take your clothes off."

George beams and quickly shucks his jumper over his head.

"You, too," Louis murmurs to Harry from the screen. "Not that you're ever wearing actual clothes, anyway."

Harry grins, first at Louis and then at George. "Happy to please." He skins out of his pants and flops back onto the hotel bed in his own room, thousands of miles from where George is slipping his own jeans down over his ankles.

He's trying not to think about that. This is almost as good, with Louis telling him what to do and being able to see them at least.

He has to get used to it, anyway. This will be the closest he can have for ages.

George swallows. He's not thinking about that right now. That's not sexy, and he's supposed to be sexy now. He looks at the screen from under his fringe as he removes his last layer.

"What now?" he asks Louis, worrying his lower lip.

Louis hums a satisfied little sigh and there's a rustle as he shifts to rest against the pillows of his own bed, laptop balanced on the mattress so he and Harry can see everything.

"Come here," he tells Harry, pulling Harry against his chest. He props his chin on Harry's head, his hand stroking low on Harry's stomach. George wants to touch them, wants to be touched.

He knows it reads on his face, too, because he wears his emotions on his sleeve and he can feel the edges of his frown pulling at the corners of his mouth.

"I want you to give us a show, George," murmurs Louis, his hand sliding down to palm Harry's cock. "Do you remember the first time we did this? When I mirrored what you were doing?"

George nods, because really, how could he forget? When he's a hundred years old, it'll be the only thing he remembers. Could make for some awkward moments in the OAP home.

"The opposite, I think, this time," Louis says, his fingers wrapping around Harry. "Whatever Harry does to me, I want you to do to yourself."

George nods, tongue wetting the plush of his lower lip. He stretches out his fingers once and then wraps them around his cock; he isn't hard yet, but neither is Harry, really. Louis knows what he's doing, he thinks.

This way he has to watch Harry's dick, which is about as far from a hardship as it's possible to be. George misses that dick. He thinks when Harry and Louis get back onto British soil he might suck it once or twice or a dozen times. If he can. If he's still in London.

He doesn't – they haven't quite talked about what will happen if they're voted out. Union J, he means. The other three all live in or around London these days, but he doesn't, and as fond of him as Jaymi may be, he doesn't think he and Olly are looking for a roommate.

Maybe he can permanently house-sit for Harry or Louis while they're on tour. That would be nice.

He could sleep in Harry's bed and pine. He'd probably get lonely in a house that big, though. A house that big's not made for one person.

"Hey," Louis says gently. "What are you thinking about, Georgie?"

George snaps out of it to give Louis a smile. "Nothing. You." He's supposed to be paying attention to Louis' hand. How did he even get distracted while Harry's got his dick out? Mad, he is.

Because Harry looks so good like this. He looks good all the time, but – his eyes are so shiny and his lip is, too, where he keeps licking at it, and he's got a pink flush high on his cheekbones as he stares at George.

Louis is moving his hand, so George starts moving his, as well. Slow strokes, though. Slow and steady, from base to tip and then back down again.

Louis isn't looking at George through the monitor, but Harry is, so George isn't sure who's being asked when Louis murmurs, "How's it feel?"

Harry gives him a little nod, though, and then his head tips back against Louis' shoulder. His eyes flutter closed and George thinks it's entirely unfair that the pixelation of the screen has no impact on how gorgeous Harry is. It should at least take him down from a ten to a nine.

Louis' eyes flick over to look at George. "I didn't hear an answer, love."

"Good," George replies, his gaze snapping back to Louis'. "Good, it's good." It's not much of anything, not yet, but touching himself feels good any time, for the most part.

Louis smiles at him, though, and murmurs, "Good, 'cause you look amazing," and that helps. That does make it better.

George adjusts the way he's sitting, legs splaying out on either side of the screen to give Louis a better look at what he's doing. He knows how to make himself look good.

Louis hums approvingly, then stops stroking Harry's dick so he can give Harry's bum a little tap. "Move over so George can see, H. You're too tall these days."

The way Harry moves is practiced, so practiced it still startles George a bit even though he's been with them... ages, now. Harry settles himself beside Louis and the look on his face, George wants. He misses feeling blissed out and floaty.

His face must show it, too, because Louis gives George a little pout. "I promise, Georgie, as soon as we're together again. I don't want you to get like... stuck, again. Not this week; it's too important."

George nods. "I know." But his mouth twists. "Could we just a little? Try?"

Louis frowns slightly. "I don't think so. Not when neither of us can be there with you in person. It isn't safe, George."

George frowns, but nods. "I know. I do know that. It just, it'd be nice to get out of my head for a bit. S'alright. It's just nice to see you."

"I know; it's a rough week for you." Louis leans closer to the computer and George really wishes he could reach out and touch him. "The minute we get back, okay? I promise."

George tries on a smile. "Okay." He bites his lip. "I love you?"

It makes Louis smile, which really should happen all the time. There should be parades for the way Louis smiles. "Love you," he returns quietly. "Still feel up to having fun with us?"

George nods and shifts his hips so Louis can see his cock. "It'd be mean of you to leave me like this."

"Ooh, you're right, it would." Louis tilts his head and gives George what George is pretty sure is an approving smile. "Why don't you touch yourself for me, babe? Remember, do what Harry does."

He turns then and George can see his mouth moving but it's too quiet to hear what he's saying to Harry.

Harry's cheeks light up pink even as his eyes grow darker.

"Mm," Louis murmurs. He's smiling now, and he nuzzles into Harry's neck. "Be a good boy."

George makes a little noise just to remind them that he's here, too, and he spreads his legs a bit more.

"That's really nice, George," Louis murmurs. "D'you still have your collar on?"

George holds his arm up. He never takes his collar off, at least not voluntarily, but this whole week it's been a sort of... It's helped, to have it. To be able to tuck his fingers into it whenever he's feeling on edge. A security blanket.

Louis' smile seems to radiate light at that. "Good. Can you relax a bit, then? As long as you have it on, we're thinking of you, you know."

That's true. George knows that's true. He has trouble remembering it sometimes, but that's what his collar is, it's a reminder that he belongs to Harry and Louis, completely theirs.

And Louis said that it was too dangerous to really go under, but the reminder does help him relax, clear his head a bit. Feel his hands more; the pleasant hot ache between his legs.

He lets out a whoosh of air from his lungs and makes himself more comfortable on the bed. He's missed them, so much, and this is likely the only time he'll get to spend with them today. He's not going to waste it feeling sorry for himself.

"That's it, love," Louis murmurs encouragingly.

George smiles. This is really nice, actually. Maybe nobody's touching him except for himself, but he's got Louis' voice telling him what to do and he can see them. This is lovely.

Louis' still got a hand on Harry's cock, and George can see how tight the corners of Harry's eyes are and doesn't blame him – Louis' hands are amazing, and Harry's been so quiet and good.

George can be good. He can be so good, and he'll prove it. Do what they're doing; he can do that.

"George," Louis says thoughtfully, "Get out your new toy, please."

He doesn't have to reach far, as it's stowed in his bedside drawer along with his plug and lube and the other toys Harry and Louis have bought for him. He grabs the lube as well. He's probably going to need that.

Louis grins. "I like the way you think. Harry – " his voice is a little sharper – "Fingers, now. Just one to start today."

As George watches, they shuffle the computer around until it's facing the end of the bed, and then Harry slips off. They're both still in frame, but only just.

Louis turns the computer a bit and there they are, Harry knelt at the bedside between Louis' legs. George's breath comes a bit faster.

"Watching, Georgie?" Louis asks. It must be hypothetical because of course George is watching; he doesn't think he'll ever be able to stop watching.

George nods, and Louis gives him a look so he swallows twice and says, "Yeah, yes. Thank you."

"Good." Louis smiles, and he's a little upside down but it makes George shiver anyway. "Good boy, George."

Louis' gaze goes smoky. "Aren't you supposed to be fingering yourself, Georgie? Copy Harry, remember?"

George snaps back to himself. He needs to stop getting distracted by Harry and Louis and start paying attention. They're beautiful but he has instructions, and he's supposed to be following them.

He uncaps the lube and slicks some over his fingers. One to start, like Louis said.

He tries lying back like Louis, but he can't see the screen – or reach, really – and props himself up on the headboard instead, nudging the laptop with his toes so that the camera can follow him for Louis to see.

"Very good boy," mutters Louis. His voice is a little strained, and George assumes that's the first finger. He'd better catch up, then.

Louis' leg twitches and George can see Harry, then, wide-eyed and wild-haired and beautiful.

The angle is funny, but it's good enough. He bites his lip as he presses his finger inside, his hand behind his thigh instead of between because that's how Harry taught him to do it. God, that seems like forever ago.

He feels his face relax into a soft smile as he gets in to the knuckle, because he likes that they've kept him long enough for it to feel like forever in some ways.

"Yeah, that's good," he hears Louis say. He could be talking to Harry, but George can think Louis is talking to him. With his eyes closed, he can pretend that they're right in front of him. Close enough to touch.

He does open his eyes again, though, because Louis groans softly, and there's –

"Hey," George whines, "Unfair, I can't copy that."

Harry smiles a little sheepishly as he pulls his mouth away from Louis. "Sorry. I couldn't help it."

"No chatter," Louis chastises, giving Harry's hair a light tug. "You both have jobs to do, if you'll remember."

"Sorry," George demurs, but Harry just kisses the inside of Louis' thigh.

That's also unfair, because George still can't bend that way, but he lets this one go. 

"Second finger," Louis says aloud. His back arches a little, and George hurries to add his own second finger. It's a tight fit, which George finds amazing, considering just how much sex he's had in the past few months.

"George," Louis says sharply, "You aren't doing what Harry is."

"What?" George feels a little addled. "I am, yeah. Two fingers."

"He's going much more slowly than you are," Louis chastises. "And deeper. Come on, then."

George swallows. He has to do better. He slows his pace and arches his back a little so that he can get his fingers in deeper. It feels a lot better, and it's reassuring that Louis knows what George needs even when he's a million miles away.

His face relaxes, and on screen, Louis gives George a gentle, red-lipped smile. "That's better, isn't it? We're still taking care of you."

"You always take care of me." It's an automatic response but it's still true. George knows that: Louis and Harry always do their best to take care of George and make sure he's feeling as good as he can.

They do a good job. The stress of the competition sometimes makes him forget, but they've become very good at reminding him – even before he knows he needs it, sometimes.

It's still not the _right_ angle, because George is pretty sure only they can get the right one anymore, but it's good. Great, even. Better than he's had wanking by himself.

Louis touches Harry's wrist, and Harry withdraws his hand. Looking at George again, lips wet and eyes wide and fringe a little damp with sweat, Louis says, "Georgie, Harry's going to fuck me. And you're going to use your present to fuck yourself. Alright?"

That's more than alright, it is. It's brilliant. "Yes," George murmurs, and he fumbles his hand over to grab his toy. "Yes, please."

"Good boy," Louis murmurs. He runs his hand through Harry's curls as Harry settles himself over him, but this time, George knows that the praise was really for _him_. Or at least for him and Harry to share.

He remembers Harry telling him to stop competing, and he's been trying. It's no use feeling jealous, anyway. It's a useless emotion that only makes him feel awful, and he loves Harry. He doesn't want to feel jealous of Harry, not when he and Louis always make him feel wanted and included.

He can also tell that it was probably Harry who picked out his shirt yesterday, as much as it was Louis who bought the vibrator. It might not be as useful in this exact moment, but George does appreciate the thought.

It's just really nice to know that there's somebody – two somebodies – who think of him. Who think of him before they think of most other people.

Harry is definitely thinking of only Louis right now, though, and George doesn't blame him. He's been there; he wishes he could be now.

"Turn it on," he hears Louis say, and George flicks the switch on the end of his vibrator. It only has two settings, low and high, so George keeps it at low. He's sure Louis will tell him if he needs to turn it up.

There's a soft huff on screen and George doesn't know whether it was Harry or Louis, because he's been in both of their places and they're both pretty fucking amazing.

Still, he's supposed to be mirroring them, so he makes a little huffing noise of his own. Just in case.

Louis chuckles softly at that. "Cute."

George watches, very closely, because Harry's getting himself ready and George has a minute to just. Observe. The way Louis looks right now is one of George's favorite ways to see him.

Harry's face tucks down and George can see the softness of the kiss Harry sucks over Louis' neck, just at the bump of his adam's apple. George's fingers have to ghost over his own then, have to, because he – Louis said to copy Harry, didn't he, and it looks so nice.

It'd be nicer if it was Harry touching him, but it's not bad.

George trails his fingers down when Harry does, over a nipple and down over the softness of his tummy. He's not toned like Louis is and he's definitely not as tan but his fingers still feel nice against his skin.

And he still has his ab, even though he's been working out less just because there's no time. He might even be working on an ab and a half.

It's not important. Harry seems to be holding his breath as he slicks lube over himself and George does the same to his toy, and then Harry is _push-push-push_ ing into Louis. George holds his breath as well, his toy so much bigger than two fingers.

It isn't as big as Harry, but watching him like this, focusing on Harry, on the way Harry's moving his body and holding all of his muscles – it almost seems like it.

And it's _vibrating_ , even on low that's still something so new and different that George's toes curl. It's not Harry, and not really anything like Harry, but it's so, so good.

His eyes close almost against his own volition, and George groans a little as he relaxes, letting the toy sink into him. He remembers after a breath that he needs to watch Harry, and when his eyes open, Harry's hips are cradled by Louis' thighs.

The vibrator doesn't have hips, though, so the best he can do it push it in all the way. The vibration feels triply intense when it's so far inside, and George can't hold back a quiet whimper.

Louis' hands never stop stroking over Harry's back. "Y'alright, George?"

He doesn't ask for a color.

George gives him one anyway. "Green," he says, clearly. He's not under, and he wants to be under, but even if he can't be, he shouldn't get. Out of practice, or whatever.

Louis gives George a sadly indulgent little twitch of his lips. "Alright, love."

When they get back, George doesn't want to come out of his floaty place for _days_. He misses it. It's been too long and he misses it so much.

There isn't really time to dwell, though, because he has to copy Harry and Harry is pulling slowly out of Louis' body in an elegant arch.

George pulls his vibrator out just as slowly, biting his lip and paying close attention. He doesn't move until Harry does, his body trembling with the strain of it.

George coughs once, questioning. "Am I – can I wank, too, or try just this? Only since I already got off once today I don't know – I mean, I can – "

"Shh," soothes Louis, his voice ragged. "When I say you can."

Biting his lip, George nods. "Alright."

Harry rocks his hips again, pushing into Louis fast and shallow, keeping the strokes of his body light and teasing.

It's easy for George to copy, even though he wants to come again, can feel it building in his stomach. Light, short, quick thrusts of his vibrator. He wants Harry's cock but this will have to do.

Louis' calf tightens, and it's beautiful. His toes twitch. George watches as Louis' fingers catch into the spaces between Harry's ribs.

He wants that so badly it aches, underneath the pleasure. He wants to touch himself. He wants them to touch him.

"Turn it on high, Georgie," Louis mutters, just loud enough for George to catch. "And then you can touch your cock."

Louis' fingers press harder into Harry's side, and Harry drops his head with a sigh, thrusting deeper and keeping himself closer.

George flicks the switch and gasps at the heightened sensations, twisting his toy deeper. He wraps his other hand around his cock and strokes twice before it feels like too much and he has to stop, slow down or he'll come before Louis' said he can.

"It's alright," Louis murmurs. "Go ahead, Georgie. But if you do come, you still have to keep copying Harry. Until _he_ stops."

That'll be so much, maybe too much, but George thinks he can, and he's so close now. He's so close and he can't help fucking himself deep and keeping the vibrator there as he comes.

And maybe – well, if it's a lot, it'll be more like they're with him. He likes that.

"Keep going, don't stop," Louis reminds him, and George doesn't, even though it does start to hurt a little, when he keeps moving the vibrator and his fingers on himself, now slipping on his own release.

He whimpers a little, because he doesn't have any time to rest, _nothing_ to let himself breathe for a second before he starts trying to match the pace of his hand to Louis' tugging on his cock.

It _is_ too much, but George likes it, likes feeling like it could be them touching him, it could be them making him take it. It's as close as he's going to get.

He leans a little closer to the camera on his computer even though it's not quite comfortable. He just – he wants to see everything. He wants to hear it all, feel it all.

Louis is moaning, in short, sharp bursts that tell George Harry's hitting all the right spots, and Harry's something gorgeous in the moment, all lithe and sex-tousled. George wants a better webcam, an HD webcam, a 3D webcam. Anything to make this as pretty as it is.

Harry noses at Louis' shoulder, and Louis smooths his hand through Harry's hair consolingly. "Not yet, love. Look at George."

Harry's eyes are piercing even if they're pixelated and George shivers as much from them as he does from the constant vibration. Harry's always so intense and George wants all of that intensity on him.

"Hi," he mumbles, twitching his fringe out of his eyes. He doesn't dare move his hands, because Louis might make Harry stop and George doesn't want that.

Harry grins at him, breathless and wide. "Hey," he sighs, licking his lips. "Hey, Georgie, doing good, such a good boy."

George nods, but the slight wince on his lips from the overstimulated twinge of wanking over his still-spent cock doesn't let him quite smile. "Thank you."

Harry lets out a quiet whine and his face drops against Louis' neck. George can't see what he's doing there but Louis gasps and grunts out, "I said look at George."

Harry nods and rests his cheek against Louis' temple, staring at George with lips that shine under the light from the lamp on their bedside table. He speeds up his thrusts, the mattress rocking, making the camera chase after him – 

And then Skype freezes.

"No!" George shouts, then slams his hand over his mouth, biting his fist. When nobody comes pounding on the door (probably used to shouting in some way or another from this room) he sits up. Groaning, he flops back down. The adrenaline and the rush of the overstimulation means he's not moving any time soon.

But the thing is, that comes wriggling into the back of his brain: Louis never said he could stop.

So he sighs and – doesn't. He keeps moving, staring at the frozen screen, the line of Harry's back, the curve of Louis' ass, and waits.

His breath starts to come faster, and by the time the screen whizzes back to life he's built up another steady pace. This'll be his third orgasm of the day and he knows it'll be weak but worth it when Louis tells him he's done well.

He has to clench his eyes shut tight as he comes through his fingers, just a tiny dribble, and a pathetic, whimpering groan stutters out of his mouth. When he's finished gasping and looks at the screen again, Harry is curled up against Louis' chest, both of them watching him.

“Sweetheart, how long did you continue on?” Harry asks, sounding concerned. “I accidentally kicked the camera and it was a bit disastrous.”

"You didn't tell me to stop," George mumbles, dropping his head back against the pillow. He can still see them, but barely. "So I didn't."

"That was really good, Georgie," Louis praises. "Wish we'd seen it all."

"So do I. Was really spectacular there in the middle with the shouting and the confusion," says George, stretching out his legs.

"There was not," Louis scoffs. "Well, on our end there was, but there wasn't on yours, I'd bet."

"I definitely shouted. And I was really confused." George wipes his hand on his stomach, because he's going to shower after this anyway.

"Sorry, love," Louis apologizes, and George must look as depressed as he feels (even after an orgasm) because his voice sounds truly genuine.

"It's alright. Still came, after all." He gives Louis a half-hearted smile. "Not all bad."

"Alright." Louis sounds a little skeptical. "D'you have time to talk now, or shall we catch you later?"

George rolls over to look at the clock on his bedside table, and groans. "I have rehearsals. Ugh."

"Ah, rehearsals. The bane of both our existences." Louis gives him a gentle smile. "Catch you later it is, then?"

"Yeah," George says. "Are you busy later?"

"For you? Never too busy." Harry grins at him. "We'll call you. Promise."

George smiles at that. "Okay. I love you?"

"Love you, too, sweetheart," Harry says. "Enjoy your roses. They need water, and you should cut the stems on an angle."

"Master botanist." Louis snuzzles into Harry's neck and George feels a pang from his heart to his toes. "But, uh, yeah, listen to him. He knows more about flowers than I do."

George giggles. "Me, either, unless it's a Bulbasaur."

"Which is the best starter Pokemon. Good lad." Louis grins at George. "We'll talk you you later, alright? Be magnificent."

George smiles, a bit sadly. "I'll try my best. Talk to you later."

They ring off, and George trudges to the shower to scrub dry come off his belly hairs.

It's really boring to watch rehearsals now that Rylan is gone, but George has already eaten a sandwich and drunk four cups of coffee and can't get a ride back to the hotel, because the contestants all have to stay at Fountain, so he's a bit stuck.

At least he's jittery. No, not at least, that's the worst part is that he's had so much coffee he can't stop tapping his toes and fiddling with his collar and he keeps getting the urge to get up and try to imitate the dancers onstage, which is. He shouldn't.

Not if he wants to keep his legs, anyway. 

But he just doesn't – he does not want to watch Christopher Maloney murder Michael Buble. He doesn't. It's among the top ten things he least wants to do, ever.

And yet that's what he's found himself doing. He wonders if maybe stabbing himself in the ears is good enough to warrant a clip on the main show. Probably, and he's seriously considering using his discarded cup to do it.

He has no idea where the rest of his bandmates have gone. Except Jaymi; he's probably with Olly.

He could find JJ, though, or Josh. Or an ice pick to put through his brain.

(Or an ice pick to put through Christopher's brain.)

So George hauls himself up out of the theatre seats and goes off backstage through the labyrinthine stairways and corridors, on a vague mission to find anyone who isn't Christopher Maloney.

He passes a few techs, and a few more techs (waves to all of them because he was raised to be polite) and he passes Olly (Murs, not Jaymi's) and more techs.

If Olly is here, that probably means Caroline is, too. He does like Caroline, even though it probably should be a little awkward. It isn't, though. She's just nice, and she was a good sport about having to wear a balloon hat on her birthday, which George generally thinks is a good judge of character.

And she's obviously got good taste in people. Yeah, he likes Caroline.

George redoubles his efforts, now that he's got a specific person in mind. Maybe she's got another balloon hat. People don't go carrying balloon hats around, probably, but there's a chance.

Who even knows what she keeps in her gigantic million-dollar handbag that Harry bought her ages ago. Probably entire miniature worlds.

George busies himself with that thought for a while as he wanders. What sort of miniature worlds would one keep in a handbag? Certainly not aquatic ones; those would ruin the inside. Maybe forests. Or maybe for a million pounds you can get handbags that are bigger on the inside. Like the TARDIS.

Like Harry's pockets! TARDIS pockets, he swears.

George frowns, and shakes his head. No, probably not even for a million pounds. Unless Caroline _is_ The Doctor...

He's had too much coffee, clearly.

He pauses at a water fountain and sticks his face into it for a second just to try to snap himself out of it. 

It's not really better. He's still caffeinated; he just has a wet face now.

"Are you alright?"

That's Caroline's voice, so he's succeeded! Even if she does sound sort of. Amused, and concerned.

George pushes his sopping fringe out his his eyes. "I had too much coffee and starting thinking you were a Time Lord."

"Is that what happens when you drink coffee?" She raises an eyebrow, though it's hard for George to see through all the water. "You start living episodes of Doctor Who?"

"I wish," George says fervently. "No, I just had too much. The alternative was Baloney."

"I... see." She clearly does not see, but that's alright. George can't see either, even if his way of not seeing is less metaphorical.

He shakes out his fringe and pushes it away from his face again and ah, yes, there's Caroline. "Much better."

"Yeah, I'd say so." She looks lovely, even if she's not all dressed up for the show. "What're you up to, then? Aside from thinking I'm a Time Lord."

George shrugs. "I can't find my band, and Ella's in some sort of meeting because she's famous now."

"Well, I'm free for a while, if you've no other options," she teases. "I feel like I haven't talked to you in ages, it'll give us time to catch up."

George beams at her. Caroline _is_ very nice. "Sure. We could have coffee."

"I don't think that's a good idea," Caroline laughs. "You might actually take off into outer space."

" _I'm_ not a Time Lord," George replies. "Besides, I haven't had nearly too much yet. I used to work in a coffee shop. I live off of it."

"You're talking faster than the speed of light." Caroline shakes her head. "And you're giggling even more than usual."

"I'm a very giggly person," George protests. "It's one of my better qualities."

"You've got a lot of good qualities. Your caffeine intake probably isn't one of them." Caroline laughs, pretty and loud, and hooks an arm around his neck. She's about as tall as him in the heels she's wearing. "Let's get something to eat, maybe it'll soak up some of the coffee."

George hesitates. He did already have a sandwich. But that was a few hours ago, and she's right, if he doesn't eat, the coffee might burn a hole in his stomach at this rate. "Alright. That sounds good."

"Course it does. Bet most things sound good to you; you're cheerier than I've ever seen you, about." Caroline grins. "I'm meeting up with a few friends of mine, hope you don't mind?"

George shrugs. "I like friends. The best one is Ross."

"The best one is Phoebe!" Caroline replies, affronted. She goes up about a million points in George's book for not even blinking.

"You're nuts," George says. "Well, but Smelly Cat was good, and the note on Ross' sandwich."

"Everything was good. God, I haven't seen an episode in ages, though." Caroline frowns, then shrugs. "I'll have to catch one when I'm not so busy."

"Well, that's two weeks, then." George sighs. "One, if you were in Union J."

"Hey, stop it." Caroline gives his shoulder a pinch that actually sort of hurts. "You guys are great, have some faith in yourselves."

"Yes, ma'am."

They end up in the massive cafeteria, but for once, it's more or less empty.

"Guess they aren't here yet," Caroline murmurs, steering George toward the food. "They'll turn up eventually. Their loss, not getting time to spend with Gorgeous George Shelley."

"Ugh," George grunts, but he's grinning. "That awful name. You've cursed me."

"How've I cursed you? There's worse things to be known as than gorgeous," Caroline laughs. "Besides, it's a fitting name."

George goes red to the tips of his ears and busies himself with looking at the display of pastries and toasties.

"Gorgeous red, too," Caroline teases. She's gone back to sounding amused. "Bet you're gorgeous any color."

George lets out a strangled sort of sound like _meerp_ and points hopelessly at a cheese and tomato toastie to hide his shame.

"Did you want one of those, then?" Caroline is muffling laughter and George can tell, but it doesn't feel like she's laughing at him as much as... well, at him, but George can tell it's not malicious.

"Yes, please," George says. "And a coffee."

"We'll take two of the tomato and cheese and two bottles of water," Caroline says to the attendant, giving George a wry look of exasperation.

"Coffee's good for you," George mumbles. "Stimulates, um... something. The brain."

"I don't think it's the brain," Caroline says dryly. "I think it's the bladder."

"That, too," agrees George. "Stimulates lots of things. It's a very versatile drink."

Caroline tosses the bottle of water at him and George startles as he barely manages to catch it. "Drink your water."

"My flavorless, decaffeinated water," grumbles George. "S'just wet stuff then, isn't it? Nothing like coffee."

"You really do need to switch to decaf," Caroline says. "Maybe do a good juice cleanse. Actually, there's no such thing as a _good_ juice cleanse, so scratch that. They're awful."

"I could do a coffee cleanse. Switch to coffee. From water." George sighs. "See, the water's already doing weird things to my brain."

"Nope," Caroline says firmly. "It is definitely not that." She pats his hand, then brightens and jumps up. "Ah! Finally here!"

George looks up and is inundated with Grimshaws. Well, only two of them, but it's still two more than he's used to seeing, and two more than he knows what to do with.

Especially the one.

He isn't sure which one, but he's definitely less prepared for one of them than the other.

He's probably more prepared for Nick, because he's at least – he's _met_ Nick and he knows Nick sort of and he's seen Nick in person as a real human being and the other one – the Aiden one – he knows so much about but he doesn't know anything about him.

And he doesn't really know why he's... here. In this room. With him. And Nick. Grimshaw. And Caroline. He knows why the Nick Grimshaw is with Caroline; they're friends, but why the Aiden Grimshaw is here seems to be _the world seeks to make George Shelley really uncomfortable_.

That can't possibly be the real reason but it seems like the only logical one. The world obviously has a grudge against him and is trying to punish him by putting as many Grimshaws in one room with him as it can and standing back to see which one can make him cry first. Or something.

He has an itch on the back of his neck like he needs to text Louis and ask for directions.

There's no time, though, no time to do anything at all other than smile and hope, a little bit, that he really is living in an episode of Doctor Who and a wormhole will swallow him up about now.

Caroline kisses Nick on both cheeks and then Aiden, and they both kiss her, and everyone is just a big, happy, friendly, comfortable kissing party except George.

And oh, god. This is a party of people who have kissed Harry Styles and he's the only one who's _still_ kissing Harry Styles and maybe they've brought him here to kill him.

_Maybe they've brought him here to kill him_.

It doesn't sound like an entirely unreasonable thing to assume. Maybe this is a Jilted Lovers of Harry Styles club and they have meetings every week and now he's been to one they've got to, to murder him so he doesn't tell. 'Cause they can't very well murder Louis. Louis' like, well 'ard. Well. He's often hard, anyway. At least around George. Oh, god, he's going to die here today. He's going to die drinking _water_.

This is the saddest day of his life.

Caroline taps his hand, and George bodily flinches, nearly falling off his chair. He has half a mind to hide under the table but then one of them might kick him.

"Decaf," she repeats firmly. "George, you know, Nick, don't you? You must've met him once or twice; he's always skulking around."

"I don't skulk!" protests Nick, his quiff flopping about rakishly. George is losing his mind.

"Yeah, yeah, we've met." He tries on a smile. "Good to see you again. Know my name yet?"

"Old Jorge," Nick says, only be pronounces it _hor-hay_ and George tries not to roll his eyes. He mostly succeeds.

"I was going to be J-George for a while but that didn't work. Only lasted a few days." George frowns. He sort of liked being J-George. It was nice to match the others.

It felt exotic. But then he met Harry and Louis, and he didn't really need to feel exotic anymore.

Oh, god. Harry. And probably Louis, too, because they mentioned Caroline liking to watch; oh, god, they're all out to murder him.

George really doesn't want to die but he doesn't know how to keep them from killing him. He hasn't got any good reasons they shouldn't, anyway, if they're set on the plan. 'Don't kill me until I come fourth on Saturday' probably won't work. Neither will 'Sorry we've all kissed the same person, would you like the rest of my sandwich?'

So he just coughs.

"You haven't met Aiden, though, have you?" Caroline asks. Her voice is a bit deliberately chipper, and George wonders whether the cough somehow clued her in to the fact that everyone in this room has snogged Harry and Louis.

"No, I haven't." He gives Aiden a smile. He's really very good-looking, which George doesn't think he's supposed to think about his future murderer.

It also makes him feel sort of short and hairless. That's probably not very sexy.

He's basically a mole rat. A naked mole rat among clothed non-mole rats. He's got know idea why Harry and Louis are carrying on with him when they've had all of these really attractive people.

And they're all so _tall_. Except Caroline, she's tiny. But that's just more endearing, really. And also, she's a pretty woman with like, boobs and stuff, and even George can appreciate boobs and stuff.

"I'm gonna throw this away," he announces, gesturing with his now empty water bottle. He finished half his sandwich and that's all he's going to get down considering he's all. Churny, now.

Could be everything draining through the hole the coffee chewed in his stomach.

He hopes not. Anyway, he doesn't know if that's actually possible.

George hops up from his seat and strides off with his crumpled napkin and bottle in hand and tries really hard not to think about who may or may not be looking at him while he goes.

It sort of feels like there's a beacon on his backside flashing HARRY'S BEEN HERE. 

When he turns around, Aiden has a matching one across his face, and Nick's hands are glowing with them, and Caroline's chest is glowing with red words, and George really has had too much coffee today. He rubs his eyes faintly.

"You alright, Georgie?" asks Caroline once he gets back to the table. She's frowning and she holds the back of her hand against George's head when he sits down. "You've been quiet."

George nods quickly. "Good. I'm." He blinks twice and pastes on a broad, cheesy grin. "So, how did you all meet? What's the weather outside? What _is_ weather, anyway? Can anyone really know another person? Can we really know ourselves?"

"Okay," says Caroline, interrupting him. He doesn't mind, though. He really, really wishes he was somewhere else. "You've definitely had too much coffee, or something, you're behaving really oddly. Do you need to go lie down, love?"

George shakes his head this time. "Nope! I am stellar. Carry on. Pretend I'm not here. And Aiden's been quieter, besides."

"He isn't supposed to talk," Nick says quickly.

"Oh, alright." Vocal rest, probably, or something like that. Maybe George should be on vocal rest. Can he assign himself vocal rest just to keep stupid things from coming out of his mouth?

And then...

" _Oh_!" George breathes. "Is it – like, wait. Is...?"

"Mm-hmm." Nick looks very pleased, with himself or with George, George has no idea. "Now you've got it."

George's eyes go very round at that.

It's not, well, it _is_ surprising, and unexpected, but this is apparently a day for that. George half-wonders if Caroline might be in on all of it, too. Maybe the Jilted Lovers of Harry Styles club is also a sort of sex gang.

Oh, god. They're not here to murder him. They're here to gang-initiate him, although George is fairly secure, today, in not having been jilted. He still has his collar on, and that means they're thinking of him.

How is one initiated into the Jilted Lovers of Harry Styles club? Should he ask? He should probably ask just in case it's to do with moths. It's probably not, if he's rational about it. It's probably more about bums.

Still, he doesn't want anybody other than him or Harry or Louis (and sometimes David Beckham when he has weird dreams) putting anything in his bum. He really hopes that's not part of the initiation. Maybe it's to do with drinking coffee.

That might also be a bad idea right now. 

Caroline is looking at him like she's expecting an answer, so George just blinks. He was too busy worrying about gang murder to have listened. "You're not allowed to have coffee anymore," she says slowly. "You get all. Weird and manic."

"Cazza, love, I don't think it's down to you to set rules for George," Nick says. He gives George a significant little smile (although it looks like a smirk). "He might get confused, and... nobody wants that."

George's hands flutter, but he doesn't even know what he wants to say. He's already confused. There's probably not a way for him to get more confused.

Aiden finally looks up and strikes Nick with a blue glance from beneath his eyelashes that seems to suck some of the oxygen out of the room. He doesn't say a word, but they're most definitely talking.

George has to inhale deeply and let it out in a slow breath, and he shivers a little bit. He really misses Harry and Louis.

Nick gives Aiden a different sort of smile. A real one, George thinks. The kind he sees in photos with Harry, out at flea markets or trading hats with hobos or whatever it is they do when they hang out. He touches his thumb to the tattoo behind Aiden's ear and says, "Go on, then. Only to George."

"Thank you." Aiden's voice is pleasantly low and a little bit hoarse, probably from not talking in a long time. George likes it when Louis tells him he's not allowed to talk. He wonders if he'd like it so much if it was a whole day of it, from start to end without George speaking a word. He'd like to try that.

He'll ask, next time he sees them.

Nick doesn't say anything in return, but George can see his arm move like he's rubbed Aiden's thigh. They're sort of? Cute? Not quite cute, but George can't think of the right word. Domestic, perhaps.

Comfortable. They're _comfortable_ , more than George would have thought, considering last time George had seen Nick, Nick certainly seemed to be in the market for someone to get cozy with.

He doesn't know. It's none of his, and he's hardly going to ask about it when something about Nick still kind of scares him to death.

Aiden doesn't, though, even though he has a bit of a sharky smile. George is a monkey, so he could hardly fault someone for being a shark.

"You look taller in person," is the first thing Aiden Grimshaw says to George, and it's. George laughs. It's so not what he was expecting and he can't help it.

"That all depends on how big your telly is, I suppose," George giggles. "You are also taller than my 32-inch. Television set!"

Aiden brushes his fringe back, and he leans closer to George over the table. George doesn't even feel like leaning back to compensate. "I've been wanting to meet you for a while," Aiden says to him, clearing his throat. When he continues, some of the raspiness in it is gone. "I don't find myself around these parts much anymore."

George nods and sweeps his own fringe out of his face in a sort of psychosomatic response. "It's – they've been really light on people from your year coming back this series, I guess. Not even Cher."

"Busy conquering America, isn't she?" Aiden laughs. "Nobody cares about anybody else from our season other than One Direction. Not even Matty, and he _won_."

George frowns. "Well. 'S easy to get swept up by One Direction, isn't it?"

There's a glint in Aiden's eye now, not unpleasant, but noticeable. "Yeah, I think you'd probably know more than most, wouldn't you?"

George's adam's apple jumps.

"They're a bit addictive." Aiden's eyes flick toward Nick and – really, George has got to learn how to have a whole conversation without saying anything, because Nick starts talking loudly about wanting Caroline to give him a tour of the building and all of a sudden Aiden and George are alone.

George picks at a loose thread hanging from the pocket of his jeans. "They are, a bit. Yeah."

"If I'm honest, I didn't expect you," Aiden admits. When George looks up again, he's leaning his chin on his hand and looking intently at George. "Like, anything about you. You're not the same type as their usual third."

George lets out a wild giggle and immediately pinches his thigh to tamp it down. "Well, my – my last name's not Grimshaw. That's for sure."

That makes Aiden laugh, and George relaxes. Not much, not much at all, but. A little. At least he's less certain he's going to be gang murdered. "That, too," says Aiden. "But I meant more that you don't switch."

George coughs. He peers at Aiden from under his eyelashes because he can tell his face is so red that he'll look like a stoplight if he raises his head. "That obvious?"

"A little bit." Aiden looks vaguely apologetic. "Not to normal people probably. But I have a little bit of an advantage, I'd say."

George shrugs one shoulder. "I – is it bad? Is that a bad thing, do you think?"

"No, of course it's not. You're just really obviously theirs if someone knows what to look for. And I do." Aiden hasn't looked away from George. It's a little disconcerting. "I've been wanting to talk to you."

George squirms a little. He wishes he had something to busy his hands, a water bottle or a cup of coffee. Probably not coffee, as he already feels like this conversation might make him wet himself.

Aiden's voice gets softer. "Harry and Louis belong to each other. And when they let you in, it's one of the best feelings in the world, isn't it?"

George nods shortly. _He_ belongs to them, too. He does. He's wearing their collar. They sent him roses.

"And you feel like it's never going to end. And – I don't know you, and I don't know them, really, not anymore, so maybe it won't ever end. Maybe you're what they've been missing." Aiden swallows. "But I just wanted you to know something."

_I've kept in touch with them after all and they've already found someone else._

_You aren't good enough for them._

_Nick and I are here to bring you home with us instead._

Aiden doesn't say any of those things. What he does say is, "You'll keep going. If they don't stay, if they leave you behind. It won't feel like it at first, but you'll be able to be happy again, because they aren't all there is."

George sighs heavily. " _I don't want Nick to fuck me_ , even if he's sent you here to give a glowing testimonial."

Aiden nearly cackles, folding in on himself. "I don't want Nick to fuck you, either," he finally manages. "You're cuter than me and I like having him around. I didn't mean it like that."

George swats at his fringe and carefully keeps not looking at Aiden. "I know they move on fast. Their history warned me. I'm not – I don't have grand delusions of, like, Garry Sheylinson or something. They're... them. They're them."

"They are them," agrees Aiden. "But I'm not talking about them, really, I'm talking about you. And you'll be alright."

"You don't know me," George says. "I mean, thanks, and all that. But I don't know you, either."

"No, you don't. But I know you know about me and them, at least a little bit. I could tell from the look on your face when you saw me." Aiden shrugs. "I thought you should know. Life after HarryandLouis is hard to adjust to, but it's not impossible."

George finally looks over at Aiden. He moves his hand to the desktop and makes sure that the cuffs pull so his collar shows. "How long did they keep you?"

Aiden barely blinks, his eyes moving to George's wrist and back. "Depends on if you mean when it actually ended or when they stopped pretending to care."

George's breath catches in his chest and he pulls his shirt cuff back down over his bracelet.

It's a bracelet.

"All in all, probably three or four months," Aiden continues when George doesn't respond. "But it wouldn't have lasted much longer even if they hadn't gone off to rule the world. It was fun, but it wasn't forever."

"Well, how – months while you were on the show together or after you were apart?"

"Tapered off pretty quickly after the finale. Even after I got voted off, we still kept on for a while, and through the X Factor Tour, but then it just... stopped. Only so many unanswered messages a guy can leave on someone's answerphone before he gets the point, you know?" Aiden smiles wryly.

George's eyes go wide. "They really just stopped answering you? Without even saying anything?"

"It was a long time ago." Aiden shakes his head. "We were young, and stupid, and I probably took it more seriously than either of them. I don't blame them, not anymore. They were busy taking over the whole of creation. No time to keep track of your fuckbuddy then."

"Is that all you think you were, then?" George asks curiously. "Just a fuckbuddy?"

"If I was more than that, they'd have bothered, wouldn't they?" Aiden shrugs. "Not much else I could've been to a couple of teenagers."

"But their – you were Louis' submissive, weren't you?" George asks. "And Harry's – dominant, I guess?"

Aiden laughs quietly. "I think everyone's a bit submissive to Louis, but, yeah, that sums it up pretty well."

"Well, then you deserved at least a goodbye," George mutters. "At least that."

"Probably," says Aiden. "Stupid to dwell on it, though. I doubt they did."

"They must have a little, or I wouldn't know about you," George offers. He pauses, then tentatively: "Why did you really say I'm different? Nick doesn't sub. It can't be that I'm not a switch."

Aiden huffs out a quiet sound that isn't quite a laugh. "Caught that, did you? Yeah. Yeah, you're different. Do you really not know why? Can't you tell?"

George shrugs. "I don't have a quiff. It's what tends to separate me from the crowd, these days."

"That's true. Look a bit weird with one, probably." Aiden gives George's hair a cursory glance. "You're different because even if they don't end up keeping you, they're – they're _planning_ on keeping you. You have _noticed_ , right?"

George tries not to smile, but he can feel it pinching at the sides of his mouth and making his cheeks dimple up. "They're really nice, yeah. But they'll be gone for a long time."

"They will be," Aiden agrees. "But they'll still want you with them then. And I think, I think maybe they'll try to make that happen, as much as they can."

George plucks at the loose string again. "I hope so."

Aiden goes so quiet George has to scoot forward in his chair to hear him. "They've collared you."

"Did they not with you?" George asks. "I'd assumed it was just something they do."

"Definitely not," Aiden snorts. "You're kidding, right? I told you: fuckbuddy. A kinky fuckbuddy, maybe, but definitely not one they wanted to keep forever or even for, like, a while. I said you're different because you are."

"But you knew what you were doing!" George protests. "I didn't even – I've never, before them. And I don't, there's more I won't – erm, than that I'll... do."

"And they don't care, do they?" Aiden gives him a sideways smile. "Because you're more than a fuckbuddy. They care about you."

"Yeah, but like, there's people who know how to like, be a submissive. I'm just, I like making them happy, but that's it."

"Well, Nick knew what he was doing that was the worst idea ever." Aiden shrugs.

"But that was – different, wasn't it?" asks George. "He's not like me."

"No, he's basically the opposite of you," Aiden agrees. He tilts his head and surveys George curiously. "Can I ask you something personal?"

George's automatic reaction is to say no, but. But this whole conversation is something personal, and he probably needed to have it. Needs to have it. "Yeah, okay," he says slowly.

"How does Harry cope?" Aiden asks. "With switching? He didn't for us. Either me or Nick. I'm just curious; you don't have to answer."

"Oh." George isn't sure how to respond. "He just. Does? I don't know, I've never really seen him when he isn't switching. He's just really good."

Aiden pulls a face and nods at the tabletop. "Well, maybe that's how you're different. Harry can be himself with you and couldn't with us. I don't know."

"I don't know, either. I just know that I'm – I'm happy. And they seem happy. Now." George frowns.

Aiden nods. "Good. Hold onto that, but – you can be happy without them, too. I know you know that, probably, just. I would've wanted someone to be able to tell me."

George feels... He feels. He's not sure what it is that he's feeling but it's really strong and he wishes he could put a name to it. "I'm glad you know now," he offers.

"Me, too," Aiden says. He gives George a sly look. "Nick is quite good at cheering a person up, if you liked..."

" _Stop_ ," says George, but he's laughing. "I'm not going to sleep with him. No matter how nicely he asks."

"What about how nicely _I_ ask?" Aiden grins. "You are very fit, you know. Kinda look like someone I used to know, though."

"No," George replies sternly. Aiden's very fit too and Nick is, well, Nick, but George is. Taken. He's taken. For better or for worse.

"Alright; had to ask." Aiden settles back again. 

It's probably good. Something in George's cagey mood has broken, and he finally feels himself for the first time all day.

As much of himself as he can feel, anyway, with this much coffee in his system. And still being aware they're going home this week. So he's still jittery and nervous, but at least he's jittery and nervous and _content_ with himself.

Behind them, there's an overdramatic clatter as the doors open and Nick Grimshaw falls through them, apparently shoved by Caroline.

Nick looks a little relieved about something, George isn't sure what. Maybe that they're both still alive. "Hello, we're back," Nick announces, traipsing over to their table and flinging himself back into the seat next to Aiden. "Miss me, darling?"

Aiden smiles softly and doesn't say a word. He tips his head and Nick chucks Aiden's ear gently. It's almost sweet.

"Good boy," says Nick so softly George thinks maybe he wasn't supposed to hear it.

Caroline slides onto the bench beside George and knocks her shoulder into his. "How you doing, kid? Did that toastie soak up any of the coffee yet?"

"I think a bit," George says, holding his hand up. It only shakes a little. "Better than I was, anyway."

"Good," Caroline says. "I'm glad I don't have to explain to Jaymi later that I let you implode from overcaffeination."

George wrinkles his nose. "Sounds messy. Is that even possible? I think you're lying to me."

"I don't know," Caroline says. "I'm not a scientist. I'm just a TV presenter."

George kisses her cheek. "The _best_ TV presenter."

"Charmer!" she exclaims, waving a hand at him to swat him away. "You just want more screen time on Xtra. There's no fooling me, Gorgeous George."

"I get lots of screen time," George says, a little proudly. "Although did you really have to tell everyone that I'm a Trekkie?"

"I think they could tell by looking at you." Caroline gently flicks his ear. "You have that look about you."

George scowls. "The shaggy hair was meant to hide my pointy Vulcan ears, Cazza."

"Well it doesn't work. You've got nobody fooled." Caroline smiles at him angelically.

George sighs and slumps onto his elbows. His shirt pulls again and shows his collar, but he doesn't cover it this time, not even when he sees Nick's eyes lock onto it.

"We should probably get going actually," Nick mutters, popping his phone out to ostensibly check the time, even though he also appears to tap out a text message and maybe check his email while he's there. "Loads to do today. We can't all laze about like X Factor contestants and TV presenters."

"No, instead you get to laze about like pretentious hipster deejays," Caroline sniffs.

Nick holds a hand to his heart and blinks slowly at her. "You've cut me to the core, you have. I don't know how I'll go on. How can I do the radio when Caroline Flack's called me pretentious?"

"You have before, and you will again." She ruffles his hair and Nick glares fiercely.

"I've had a blow-dry today, Flacky," he grumbles, his fingers twisting and combing through his hair. Honestly, George couldn't tell the difference.

He can't really say anything, though, as his hair is basically supposed to look like he's just rolled around in a cloud.

"Come on," Nick says, his fingers curling in Aiden's shirt sleeve. "Up and at them, Grimshaw."

Aiden rolls his eyes so flawlessly that George can tell Nick really, really overuses their shared last name and Aiden really, really didn't even think it was that funny the first time.

On the other hand, Nick seems to find himself hilarious, hooking his arm in Aiden's when he stands up and tipping his head toward Caroline and George. 

"It's been lovely," he says. He's so very charming. It's. It's ridiculous, is what it is.

"It's been," George agrees, but doesn't quite say what it's been, because he didn't talk to Nick, anyway, and he still feels a little as though liking Nick is betraying Louis.

Aiden gives him a close-mouthed smile, messing with his fringe.

Nick elbows Aiden lightly. "Say goodbye to George."

Aiden grunts, then clears his throat. "Goodbye, George," he says dutifully, giving him a real smile, teeth and all.

George lifts his hand in a little wave. "Bye, Aiden. Thanks for the chat. Sorry if it – " he gestures between Aiden and Nick. "You didn't have to."

"Yeah, I did," says Aiden, and something in his voice tells George that it wasn't just for George's sake.

George's lips purse.

"I'll see you around, George," concludes Aiden, and then he keeps his mouth closed, his eyes turning to Nick. George can tell that he's done talking.

Nick sets a solid hand on the small of Aiden's back. "Aiden's recording tomorrow," he explains. "He asked to be kept quiet."

"Oh," says George. He's a little bit surprised. It seems weird that Aiden would ask for Nick to make him do something – as though that defeats the purpose of being told to do something at all.

"And he's doing very well," Nick praises then, and his voice is different from how George has usually heard it. Softer, maybe, but no less sharp; it's warmer. Just different.

He has a flash of a thought, for just a moment, of whether or not Nick would sound like that if he had George. It's not serious, because he knows it's not going to happen, probably not ever and definitely not while he belongs to Harry and Louis. But he has the thought, and then he tucks it away.

He does wave, though. He feels better around Nick knowing that he has an Aiden now. It's – safer, somehow.

Not that he thought Nick was after his virtue, or anything. If George has any virtue left. But he feels more like he can relax, if Nick's not actively pursuing him.

It'll make Louis happy, at the very least.

"I should get back to the hotel, or Jaymi'll fuss," he says, checking the time as the Grimshaws leave. "Sorry to run out on you," he tells Caroline, giving her an apologetic look.

"That's alright, love," Caroline says. "Sorry I didn't get to actually talk to you much. I mean once the caffeine wore off a bit and you weren't out of your head."

"I'll get to talk to you on Xtra, anyway, when we're saying our goodbyes." George gives her a grin. He can smile and be realistic at the same time.

Caroline deflates a little at that. "Gorgeous George." She hugs him.

George hugs back. She's Caroline and lovely and funny and sweet, and she smells nice. And George likes hugs. So there's really no reason not to.

She adjusts his jumper after pulling away, and gives his hair a last ruffle. "Alright, you. Go home to Jaymi."

"I will. I'll see you later, Caro-Caroline." He smiles, and gives her another quick hug before he heads off.

Jaymi is lying in bed when George gets back, iPad propped up on his chest so he can watch over their most recent rehearsal videos.

"Hiya," says George. He doesn't even bother with his own bed, instead squirming onto Jaymi's next to him and tucking himself underneath Jaymi's arm.

"Hello, little monkey," Jaymi says fondly. He's very warm from being tucked under the sheets and George nestles against his chest to give him a little squeeze.

"Have you ever, like. Found yourself somehow having lunch with three people who've kissed someone you're sleeping with?" George asks haltingly. "Or is it just my life that's some sort of cosmic joke?"

"I have, actually," Jaymi says. "But probably not the same way you mean."

"Probably not," George agrees. He sighs and hooks an arm around Jaymi's stomach. It's good that he's allowed to get cuddles from Jaymi, because Jaymi's aces at it and George likes being able to touch people. "Though that sounds interesting."

"Not really," Jaymi assures him. "Olly's friends just played a lot of seven minutes in heaven in college."

"Oh." Well, Jaymi's experiences with that game sound loads more fun than George's, which mostly consisted of sitting uncomfortably in cupboards with girls while people snickered outside.

"So who'd you run into?" Jaymi asks. He sets the iPad aside and cuddles George back, which is divine. "Caroline, I'm assuming. Has Harry snogged Murs?"

"No. Or, well, maybe, but that's not who I was talking about. There was a sudden influx of Grimshaws 'round the studio today." George shrugs as well as he can in this position. "Or, really, just the two. But two more than I'm used to."

" _Cringe_ ," Jaymi agrees. "Was Nick bothering you again?"

"No, he was fine, lovely and stuff." George sighs. "He never really, like, _bothers_ me. He just makes me feel weird, and sort of like Louis'd be upset I was talking to him."

Jaymi frowns a little. "Well, if you like him, Louis shouldn't make you feel that way."

"I don't even really know him. And Louis hasn't actually – said anything, like whether I can talk to him or not. I hardly see him anyway; Nick, not Louis." George sighs again. "I don't know. I feel weird around him. Not good, or bad, just. Weird."

"I guess that's understandable," Jaymi says. "He's awfully dommy, isn't he? And you only really know him through what your boys have told you."

"Yeah, yeah, I think that's sort of it," George replies with a slight frown. "I don't know him, or even really like him, but I don't dislike him, either. He just makes me feel really..." He searches for the word. "Submissive, I guess." He wrinkles his nose.

"Well." Jaymi hitches George up a little higher onto his chest. "You are."

"Am I?" George asks curiously, tilting his head up so that he can see Jaymi's face. "Like, I _know_ , but in the great big world of whatever this is, am I really?"

Jaymi shrugs. "I haven't done a scene with you, so I can't _really_ say. But it seems like it from my perspective."

"I just feel like I'd know that, somehow." George sets his chin on Jaymi's chest, his eyebrows pulling together. "I don't usually feel like I am, except for when we're. You know."

Jaymi shrugs. "I don't, either. When I'm not doing a scene I'm really quite – "

"Bossy?" George offers. "Demanding? Perfectionist? Exacting?"

Jaymi swats the back of his head. " _Shh_ ," he says, giving George a glare. "I was going to say _docile_."

"Not a word I'd use," George says. "You're nearly as bossy as Louis." He pauses. "But you said you were like – more like me? Or are you like Harry and it just, like, depends."

"I'm not used to measuring it on a scale of One Direction members," laughs Jaymi. "Probably more like Harry, then. I can switch if the situation calls for it, but I prefer being the more dominant one."

"Oh." George is quiet for a while, almost until Jaymi's nearly asleep – George can tell by how slow and steady Jaymi's breathing has become. "Is it weird that I can't?"

"Hmm? Switch, you mean?" Jaymi asks drowsily, his hand rubbing slow circles on George's back. "Course it's not weird, Georgie. Why would you think that?"

"Just seems like most everyone else can. Harry. Aiden. You."

"I'll bet you money that Nick can't, or really doesn't like to, anyway." Jaymi pulls George closer. "Different people like different things, George. You, you haven't got a dominant bone in your body, probably. S'just not who you are."

George sighs heavily. "Is that... boring?"

"No, it's not boring, it's gorgeous," Jaymi replies. "You're fascinating."

George blushes a little and rests his cheek against the side of Jaymi's neck. "If I hadn't got Harry and Louis, d'you think you would've – never mind."

Jaymi laughs a little, and George can feel it as it rolls through him. "Yeah, best not go there," Jaymi says softly, petting through George's hair. "For both of our sakes."

George nods. "It's just weird to think about like, never figuring this out about myself? 'Cause I, honest, I don't know how I'd've got through this competition without seeing them every week to get out of my own brain a bit."

"You really are so much better than you were at the beginning, like, if you hadn't had them this whole time I can't imagine how you'd be dealing with going home Sunday." Jaymi leans his head against George's. "Maybe," he amends. "Maybe going home Sunday."

"I don't think I was that bad," George says. "I mean, yeah, I had a bit of a – pathetic spell in the middle there. But I was alright, wasn't I?"

"George," Jaymi says very softly, "You were not alright in Las Vegas. And I'm really sorry. That I was part of it."

"No, no, don't be, why?" George frowns at him. "I was – you were really good to me. You don't have anything to be sorry for."

Jaymi gives George's hair a scratch, which is nice enough to make George purr and snuzzle into Jaymi's neck some more. The sad tension breaks a little at that and Jaymi laughs quietly before murmuring _cat-monkey; I don't know what you are_. "All the same, I'm just saying that you seem more, like happy with yourself now. And that's really good."

"I am happy with myself," George mumbles. It's not really a realization, but it is the first time he's said it out loud and really, actually meant it. "And a lot of it's due to them but not all of it, because you were some of it, too. In a bit of a different way, but you did help."

"Good." Jaymi says. He pauses and seems to start his sentence twice and stop before saying, all in a rush, "Are you eating now?"

George worries the inside of his lip, and then ventures, cautiously, "I never, you know it's not, it's not like I was," before he stops, swallows, and starts again. "Yeah," he mumbles. "I, it wasn't ever like. Yeah."

Jaymi's seems to deflate a little at that, and he just pets George's hair for a bit and then, slowly, sets to rubbing circles over George's back.

It's nice, and comfortable, and makes George a little sleepy. Not sleepy enough to actually sleep, he doesn't think, but sleepy enough to rest his head back against the side of Jaymi's neck.

"You nervous about your solo this week?" Jaymi asks, finally. It's grown dark in the room as the sun set, but neither of them is asleep and neither has turned on a light. It feels like things are moving towards an ending.

"Bit," George whispers back. They're the only two in the room, so he hasn't got a reason to whisper, but it fits the mood. "Not too much. Don't really think it'd make much difference even if I got up there and sang it in French."

"Might help, actually," Jaymi says thoughtfully. "D'you know it in French?"

"No," George giggles. "I don't know anything in French."

"I took French in school, but I don't actually remember any of it besides dirty words. Which I definitely didn't learn in the class." Jaymi hums. "Maybe I'll sing all my solos but instead I'll sing dirty words in French."

George dissolves in giggles at that, giving Jaymi's ribs a squeeze.

Jaymi sings something that sounds vaguely like it's to the tune of Beneath Your Beautiful except it's about three words in French repeated over and over again in George's ear.

George shakes his head. "Ridiculous man. I'm really glad I picked Union J. And not just because Dan is a douche."

"Well, I'm glad it's not just because of that." Jaymi laughs, tugging at the ends of George's hair. "I'm really glad you picked us, too. Really glad, Monkeyboy."

"Can I sleep here tonight?"

"Of course you can. I'll be cross if you don't." Jaymi shuffles over on the bed a bit more to give George room, probably, but George just shuffles along with him.

Jaymi laughs at that. "Not _now_ , Georgie, it's like half-six. Let's get some food, and then you can come back up and cuddle me to death."

"Not to death," protests George. "I wouldn't want you to _die_. Just, like, a cuddle-coma, maybe."

"Alright." Jaymi stands and cracks his back. It reminds George of Harry. "Let me put some trousers on and we can go down to the restaurant."

George sighs heavily. "Yeah, alright. I was having a good cuddle, though, and now I'm cold. You owe me."

"Oh, George. Tonight, I solemnly swear, I will give you the cuddle of your life."

"Holding you to that." George slides off the bed and feels his hair, then wrinkles his nose and digs in his bag for a beanie. He loves it when people play with his hair but it does leave it a bit staticky and frizzed.

Jaymi pats George's head as he crosses behind to open the door to their room. "Cute. Did you get that from them?"

"I just like beanies." George laughs, adjusting it on his head and hooking his arms around Jaymi's neck from behind him. It's not much of a piggyback because George isn't trying his hardest and Jaymi's sort of just. Walking. And dragging George behind him.

"George, you're choking me."

"No, I'm not," George argues, pushing his face into the back of Jaymi's neck. "Monkeys don't weigh a lot."

"Your arms are 'round my neck. Even the littlest monkey hurts if it's worn as a necklace." Jaymi sighs and crouches a little to reach back and grab beneath George's thighs. "Come on, up you get."

"Yay!" George cheers, hopping up. Jaymi gives the best piggyback rides, honestly. He's very steady, is Jaymi.

"Careful not to get too excited or I'll drop you. Don't want to bruise your bum or your boys will come after me." Jaymi hitches George higher. "Steady on."

"They won't see my bum for ages," George says glumly. "It could be broken in half for all they'll know. Not that I want you to drop me and break my bum."

"Aww, Georgie." Jaymi wriggles a little, which George supposes is the closest he'll get to a hug from this angle. "I won't drop you. You know I've got you."

George smiles against the top of Jaymi's head. His hair smells quite nice; apple and cinnamon and a little smoke from his cigarettes. "I know."

Jaymi piggybacks him all the way down to the hotel restaurant, even when some of the people in the lobby give them strange looks.

After dinner, they round up Josh and JJ and Jahmene and head to their room to watch a film before going to sleep.

It's very normal, George thinks. Normal friendships and normal friend stuff and... It's the last week of it he's going to get for a while.

After the other three J's leave, Jaymi gives George a smile before taking off his shirt for bed. "That was a conflation of J's in one room. I'm glad you aren't one. Too confusing."

"Used to be. George-with-a-J." George smiles at him, then snorts. "Used to feel a bit, you know. Left out. Because I didn't have a J."

"That's stupid," Jaymi snorts. "You don't need a J to fit in. You don't need anything, really, except yourself."

"Well, I said used to, didn't I?" retorts George, though he does feel a little warmer inside. "Got over it."

"Good." Jaymi's tattoos stand out dark against his pale skin as he changes into his pajamas. "Because we really are better with you than we could've been without you."

This all feels so final, like the conclusion to something. The conclusion to this part of the journey. They don't know they're being voted out, but... they know. George swallows. "Thanks, Jaymi," he says quietly. "I think you guys make me better, too."

Jaymi smiles again at that and holds out his arms. "Come here. You've turned us all into _huggers_ and now you have to deal with the consequences."

Consequences. George laughs in the face of consequences. He bounds into Jaymi's arms and hugs him back tight, sighing happily. "You're fun to cuddle," he mutters. "Really, like. Solid."

"Thanks, I think," Jaymi laughs. He gives George a squeeze. "Now go brush your teeth so we can sleep."

"Okay," George agrees. His teeth feel gross anyway, and he'd been on his way there when Jaymi had distracted him with hugs and niceness. George is easily led astray by hugs and niceness.

It's a good thing, too. He'd have a lot fewer good people in his life now if he weren't so easily swayed by hugs and niceness. And people getting his junk out in public in clubs.

He brushes his teeth quickly and does a bit of a dance as he changes into pajamas, humming to himself. It's their other song for this week, not that it'll do any good even if he starts singing it in his sleep.

Jaymi is in bed already when George walks back into their main room. The blankets are pulled back and Jaymi pats the mattress. "In you get, little Georgie."

It's odd, but George is pretty sure that Jaymi's bed is more comfortable than his. Maybe it's because Jaymi's bed has Jaymi in it.

He cuddles down against Jaymi's arm. "G'night, Jaymi-James."

"Good night, Monkey." Jaymi curls his arm around George, and George feels safe. "Have nice dreams, okay?"

George nods and promptly yawns.

Jaymi laughs from above his head, soft and drowsy. "Cute, Monkey," he mumbles. He leans his head down against George's. "Now sleep. Big day Saturday. Need to rest up."

George suspects that neither of them sleeps much at all. Saturday is a big day – the biggest of their lives, probably, or at least just as big as the judging day in Las Vegas.

It's really amazing how different George feels now than he did then. Not just about Union J, but about everything, really. It's like four and a half months have turned him into a completely different person.

He feels stronger, in a way. When he was, when he didn't get through on his own, and there were only three J's, and he didn't know Harry or Louis or any of them, and he got sent home, he felt like he'd never be alright again, like it was just another thing in a long line of failures, and now... Now he has Jaymi, and Josh, and JJ, and Ella, and Harry and Louis, and all the friends he's made here. 

He used to think that relying on people made him weak, but now he's pretty sure that it only makes him George.

And he sort of, for the first time in a long time, he likes being George.

It should be strange that he's accepting they'll be voted off so easily. He's not _happy_ about it, because he doesn't want this to end, ever, but... he's calm. There's nothing he can do about it.

it isn't his fault, really. He could blend better, like Gary said, but he is working on that.

It's just that everyone left (apart from Christopher, in George's opinion) is so good. When it gets to this point in the competition, someone goes home every week, and there are only four acts left. It's just maths.

He rustles a few times in the night, just when his arms start to fall asleep or whatnot. Jaymi shifts to accommodate him every time, which is how George knows neither of them is sleeping. But they don't need to talk. A few months ago – hell, a few weeks ago – George would have either offered to move back into his own bed or blow him to make sleeping easier, but he doesn't have to now.

Maybe he didn't have to then, either, but he doesn't regret it. Regrets are stupid, and George doesn't regret anything that led him here, in the grand scheme of things.

He finally dozes off around dawn after his iPhone lights up with a soft glow and a text from Louis and Harry.

If nothing else comes from this experience, if they get voted off and the J's decide all of a sudden they don't want him anymore or something, he's at least so glad that he got Harry and Louis. He's just so glad.

_Go to sleep. We can hear your brain from here. X_

He has no idea how they do that, but an instruction's an instruction, and it's easier to get to sleep when he's got one from – to borrow a phrase from Jaymi – his boys.

Of course, falling asleep means that in just a few hours, he has to wake up, and he grumbles and bats at Jaymi's hands.

"Wakey-wakey," Jaymi says, dodging George's flailing limbs easily. "Or I'll take a picture of your face right now and upload it to Tumblr."

"Nnyugh," George whines. "People'll juss'think it's cute."

"I'll draw a dick on your face first." Jaymi tickles underneath his arm. "Maybe a few dicks."

"I like dicks on my face," George grunts. He rolls over and puts the pillow over his head.

"Oh, I'm sure you do." Jaymi laughs, and pulls the pillow away, kneeing up over George to tickle him again. "Up, up, we've got things to do today."

George makes a pathetic whimpering sound until Jaymi wheedles, "I'll get you a caramel macchiato with extra caramel sauce."

"... _Extra_ extra?" George asks cautiously, peering up at Jaymi through his fringe.

"Yes, so much caramel you go into sugar shock."

"Well. Alright, then." George stretches his arms over his head and yawns. It's easier to leave his arms there, so he does. "You drive a hard bargain."

Jaymi looks down at George and shakes his head. "You don't even do it on purpose, do you? You're just _like_ this. You're lucky it was Harry and Louis who found you first and not Grimshaw. He'd've torn you apart by now."

"Do what on purpose?" asks George, squinting at Jaymi. "It's early, stop talking in riddles."

Jaymi shakes his head and pokes George's armpit. "Put ideas in my head. Now get up! Or we'll run out of time for coffee."

"I'm up, I'm up," George grumbles, grabbing Jaymi's shirt to help lever himself into a sort of sitting position. "Up. Very. Upright, up."

Jaymi rolls his eyes and lets George climb all over him to get out of bed.

Once George is dressed, he feels a little less groggy, though there's still a bit of an ache in his head that tells him he didn't get enough sleep. "I need coffee," he mumbles, leaning against Jaymi. "Lots and lots of coffee."

Jaymi rubs his arm. "Alright. I did promise."

"You did promise," nods George. He bites Jaymi's shoulder as a premature warning. "Only way I'm getting through this day is with caffeine and probably hugs. Up to the challenge?"

"I think I can manage." Jaymi sighs and gestures towards his own back. "Clamber on up."

George manages a mumbly cheer and settles himself on Jaymi's back. He rests his head on his shoulder because without coffee, holding it up is too much of an effort.

Jaymi delivers spectacularly on the extra caramel sauce. Or, well, the barista does, but Jaymi does the ordering.

George can feel himself getting less sleepy as he slurps through the straw, and he gives Jaymi a wide smile. "Thank you," he says, his fingertips warm on the outside of the cup. "You're the best."

"I am," Jaymi agrees.

"Hey," says George, bouncing on his toes a little. "We'll be alright, won't we? Even without winning? I mean, One Direction didn't win."

"That's true," Jaymi agrees. He holds open the studio door so George can duck under his arm. "They're doing a little alright, aren't they?"

"A bit alright. Selling out the biggest arena in the world, massive American tour, number ones in every country." George shrugs, hooking his arm through Jaymi's. "Moderate success."

"That's right, they are playing Madison Square Garden next week, aren't they?"

"Yeah, Monday." George smiles. They've been talking about it loads, excited and nervous and George is excited and nervous _for_ them, even if he's a bit sad he can't go see them conquer the world a little more.

"Do people see concerts on Mondays?" Jaymi asks.

"They do if it's One Direction," George replies.

Jaymi hums his agreement. "It's New York, anyway. Whole different place from here, isn't it? I bet people see concerts on Mondays all the time."

George sighs heavily. "Wish I could."

"I know, love." Jaymi gives him a sympathetic look, which, while sweet of him, is not a way to get to see One Direction's concert on Monday.

George drowns the rest of his sorrow in his caramel macchiato, and after a warm-up, they take to the stage to rehearse for tomorrow.

The songs are easy, and probably a bit safe, but George thinks it's better to be safe and good than to be risky and awful.

And definitely better than being safe and awful. But they aren't, and he knows it. He can tell. They're good this week, they're good _now_ , a million miles from where they were in the first week with their disastrous performance of Queen.

They could be so much, George thinks. Maybe not world famous, or anything like that, but they've got _something_ , and he just has to hope that the country thinks they've got more something than Christopher does.

Even if they don't.

He hopes someone does. Someone besides Louis Walsh, although it's nice to be told that he's in _the next big boy band_.

He doesn't think it's too difficult to have more something than Christopher does. Water probably has more something than Christopher does.

Vanilla skim milk on a single cornflake even has something more than Christopher does, and George isn't a Cocoa Puffs kind of boy.

(He really wants to live in Nicole's head for a day. It just seems like it'd be fluffy and nice in there.)

And not the sort of floaty fluffiness he gets from Harry and Louis. more of a sugar-coated candy floss fluffiness.

They rehearse their first song over and over with the lights and the staging for an hour before switching with James for a new run through costuming, just to make sure all of their tailoring is down pat and they coordinate in a boybandy way.

If it's the last time they're going to be on that stage performing for votes, they should really look the part.

He does wish that they could wear something little more _fun_ , for their last show. Not necessarily as fun as red trousers and braces, but something a bit more lively than marine khaki. But it's alright.

Everything's alright. George has already had a cry over it and he's already had his panic over it and it's just. It's alright. Not good. But alright.

After James is finished, Union J get the stage again to practice their second song, and for the third time since they've been on the show, George has the opening lines.

It'll be the second time he actually sings them, after choking and giving the words to Josh for week six.

So it's not weird that he's nervous, but he has to get through it. They don't have much of a chance, but they won't have any if George screws up the first line of the song.

He doesn't think he will, this time. He really doesn't.

When he opens his mouth, the words come effortlessly, and in key and everything, and he sings the right ones and doesn't screw up. At all.

And maybe he doesn't have Josh's tone or Jaymi's range, but he was picked to be here, too. He deserves it, and he deserves to be with them, and he _can_ sing. He's good.

He doesn't have his guitar to cuddle and it's just him at the start, and he feels fine. Better than fine. He feels _fantastic_.

When they finish the run-through, Josh looks over at George and gives him a grin – a real one, wonky teeth and everything – and George glows.

They've all come so far, and they've all done this together, and in four and a half months George feels like he's grown, they've grown, this has grown.

He doesn't even second-guess himself when he slings an arm around Josh's neck on their way off the stage and asks if he'd like to come along to the gym for a workout. Josh laughs and says no way, but he'll go for lunch and some coffee. It sounds good enough to George.

It sounds just this side of great to George. Maybe they won't win (they definitely won't win) and maybe they'll be voted off this week, but George, at least right now, doesn't feel like he's losing a damn thing.

He does work out after he finishes eating with Josh, and he runs on the treadmill until he thinks his legs may collapse, though, because he wants to look good tomorrow. It's his last chance to be on the show, he's singing a solo, he wants people to think, _that George Shelley, he's a fit bloke, I should vote for him!_

According to Jaymi, people would still think that even if he got on stage in a giant tutu, but George doesn't buy it.

He takes a long soak in the bath to ease his sore muscles, and he has a nice wank just because there's time and he can.

And then he texts Harry and Louis about it, because, well. Because he can do that, too.

They don't write back right away, though. And that's, well. He knew they wouldn't always. And they don't; they don't always write back straight away.

But they haven't written back an hour later, either, and that sort of sucks.

"Jaymi-James," he says thoughtfully, splayed on his bed. "What's the protocol when your – your popstar-boy-things aren't around or texting you back and you want to talk to them about sexy things?" He frowns. "The protocol is that I'm clingy and it's stupid."

"You're not clingy and stupid," Jaymi says, although he looks a little distracted by his mobile. Damn Jaymi and his non-popstar boyfriend-fiancé-thing who always wants to talk to him.

George frowns harder. "No, no, I'm definitely clingy and stupid and you should pay attention to me." He rolls over onto his stomach and gives Jaymi his best puppy eyes. Or, well, Harry's best puppy eyes that he's been teaching George how to do.

Jaymi sighs and looks over at George. "Come cuddle all you like, but I'm talking to Olly."

George sighs right back. Better than nothing, he supposes. He slinks off the bed and crawls his way over to Jaymi, curling up next to him. He's been spending a lot of his time with Jaymi this week, and it's probably because he doesn't actually know how long it'll be before he gets to see him again after Sunday. There's the finale, but... what then? 

And they've been sharing this room and Jaymi's one of his best friends and, just, George is going to miss him. A lot. No matter how long before they see each other again.

He's already missing Ella _and_ Louis _and_ Harry; he isn't really looking forward to missing Jaymi.

This week is making him weepy. The best solution seems to be to fall asleep with his head in Jaymi's lap.

Naps are really nice, he thinks when he wakes, much more refreshed than he was this morning. Especially nice when you really needed one. He presses his face against Jaymi's stomach, grateful that he hasn't been moved, because he really is very comfortable. 

"Time izzit?" he mumbles into the cotton of Jaymi's shirt.

"Time to feed you, I suspect," Jaymi says. "And I'm spending the night with Olly tonight. Sorry, monkey."

George doesn't say anything at that. He's not so selfish as to beg for Jaymi to stay, and suspects it wouldn't make a difference anyway. But he's not looking forward to being alone on the night before their last performance show.

But he knows what makes him happy, and he knows what makes Jaymi happy, and he won't begrudge Jaymi that – not tonight of all nights, but also not really ever, because he loves Jaymi and _wants_ him to be happy. 

Anyway, maybe he can bunk in with Jahmene tonight. He's a good distraction because George has a compulsive need to make him laugh (and it isn't very hard, which is excellent, as George is not great at being funny on purpose, he thinks).

He thinks Jahmene could use a mate tonight, too. Even if there's no way Jahmene's leaving, he always gets nervous like he thinks he's going to.

He isn't good for cuddling, but he'll do as someone to talk to until George falls asleep again. 

Harry and Louis never end up texting back, but George sleeps anyway just because he has to.

Saturdays are always hectic, but this one's sort of, well, somber. For George, at least. Maybe for everyone else it's still hectic but for him everything seems slowed down, like his brain wants him to savor this last time.

He kisses all of the makeup staff on the cheek and hugs Jamie for a long time after his hair is finished.

"You're being ridiculous," Jamie says, but George notices that he goes a bit pink and weepy when George turns away.

George knows they're all fond of the contestants, too. _Everyone_ cried when Ella left.

He hopes everyone cries when they leave, except he also doesn't because that's a cruel thing to wish.

(He figures he's allowed to be a _little_ bit cruel today.)

He sticks close to his band for the most part ( _his_ band) because even if none of them want to talk about it, they all know. It'd be hard not to.

He doesn't even check his mobile (much). This is about his band, their journey, Union J. It's the first time, really, that George thinks they _are_ their name. And their songs go so well, they really do, and he _nails_ his solo. He does, and he knows it, and everyone at home has to know it, too.

They're _good_. Better than good, they're _amazing_. They deserve to still be there next week, more than Christopher. If they aren't, then it wasn't – George can't think it was anything that he could have done different.

And that's enough for him, he thinks. It's enough for all of them, and everyone will know that they were the winning group, at least, even if they aren't the winners.

He can't let himself think of it any other way. He has to hold on to that, because that has to be enough.

They have a pretty good night, all things considered. Olly and Caroline take them out to get drunk, and Josh gives George a piggyback since he's sober and George declared that makes him the designated driver.

"Designated piggybacker," Josh snorts. "I don't think it's quite the same thing, George."

"'S'is'en're Gosh," George mumbles, nods, and decides that it's good enough as he rests his head down on top of Josh's quiff. It's quite tickly.

Josh sighs. It makes George's whole head move, and he giggles.

His mobile vibrates in his pocket and George fumbles for it, whining a little when he can't make his fingers work.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, you lightweight," Josh grumbles. He picks George's phone out of his pocket and unlocks it. "It's your One Direction boys. D'you wanna read it?"

George nods and holds out his hand. Unfortunately, the text seems to have been sent in very oddly blurry hieroglyphics, so he can't answer.

"What's it say?" he asks pitifully, gesturing with the phone. "They sent it in Egyptian by accident, can you read Egyptian?"

Josh takes a look, then glances at George. "Those are just letters, George, and you're too drunk to be able to handle what it says."

"Am not. Hardly drunk t'all, I just can't read Egyptian." George pleads with Josh underneath his fringe. "Please? I miss them. They're very far away."

Josh sighs like this pains him. "It says, 'You sang beautifully and we hope you win. You definitely – they spelled that bit wrong, by the way – made me proud. And then a load of X's."

George is seized by a mad fit of giggles, and he presses his face against Josh's arm. "I made them proud, did you see? _Beautif'ly_."

"Well, it's just true," Josh says gruffly. He hitches George up a little on his back. "Come on, Georgie, shift your arse, you're making my legs fall asleep."

George wiggles his bum a bit, laughs again, and then tries to use Josh's shoulders as a lever to get himself up as high as he needs to be.

" _Ooph_ ," Josh grunts. "Thanks. Now come on upstairs, we're gonna hose you down and put you to bed so you can almost function tomorrow."

"Why hoses?" asks George in a mumble. "I'm not a dog. I want a dog. Have you got a dog? Let's get one. Ruff."

"Oh, god," Josh mutters.

"I'm not a dog," George insists. "Even if I want a cage, I'm not a dog."

" _Oh, god_." Josh hitches George up again and starts off for the elevator. "It's time for you to pass out now, George."

"Okay," George mumbles agreeably, and rests his cheek against Josh's quiff again. It makes a pretty good pillow, really. It's rather voluminous.

He doesn't pass out, or at least, he doesn't mean to. When he's next aware of his surroundings, though, Josh is depositing him on a bed, so maybe he did.

"Hi," he says cheerfully to Josh.

"Go back to sleep," Josh mutters. He's in the midst of tucking George in, lying on his side.

"But, but I wanted – something, wanted to tell you something," George mutters. He knows he wanted to say something but words are harder when you're drunk.

"Well, tell me in the morning," Josh says. He pats George's leg. "Or the day after. Or whenever. We'll still be Union J, George."

"Has to be now." George tugs on Josh's shirt sleeve. "Just want you to know. I'm glad it's different."

Josh looks, in the dim light, like he might actually blush at that. His face definitely softens, anyway. "I'm glad _you're_ different now, than you were. It's hard to like someone who hates themself, and you don't anymore, and – that's it, really."

George smiles, a little, and rubs his face against Josh's hand. "I like you. I didn't. And I do now. And I'm glad you don't hate me anymore."

Josh sits down on the edge of George's bed and pats George's cheek. "I just hated that you were so pretty."

That makes George laugh, and he squirms over so he can rest his head on Josh's leg. "I think you're very pretty, Josh. Like a beautiful rhinoceros."

Josh rolls his eyes. "I'm not sure that's a compliment, no matter how much you like jungle animals. How drunk _are_ you?"

"Not that drunk. Tired. Thirsty." George sighs. "Good last night."

"It might not be the last," Josh says. "Cazza was saying she'd heard the voting was basically all tied right now. Well, James and Jahmene are tied and us and Baloney are tied."

"My B'loney has a first name," says George darkly. "It's _shit_."

Josh actually laughs at that and pats George's cheek again. " _Go to sleep_ , George. I'll stay in here so you don't die in the night. Come on."

"Stay here," George agrees. "I like you. Stay. No more Baloney talk."

"No more talk at all," Josh agrees. He gets into Jaymi's bed and turns off the lamp. "G'night, George-Porge."

George hates that name more than just about anything, but Josh has no way of knowing that and George is sleepy and drunk and it doesn't matter. "Night, Joshy," he mumbles back.

The next morning, when George wakes, he feels like shit.

Except not really. Just physically.

"I'm going to die," he groans into a pillow. "Tell my mum I love her. Hide anything incriminating. I'm dying. I might already be dead."

"Your whole life is incriminating, and you have to get up now," Josh reports. "Come on. Your One Direction things rang this morning twice already, and they're sorry they missed you, but now they're at some airport so you'll have to wait to speak to them later."

"Nooo," George moans, trying to claw his way out of the covers. "I'll be _sad_ later, I wanted happy phone wanks." He sags back against the mattress. "Sorry," he adds belatedly.

"We've all heard you," Josh says drily. "Now get up. Into the shower; you're sweating vodka."

"Why are we even bothering going to this show?" asks George in a grumble, rolling off the bed and onto the floor. "We all know what's going to happen. Let's run away."

"Are you alright?" Josh asks. He looks down at the heap of George on the floor. "How'd you not break any bones falling on the floor like that? You don't have any padding."

"I've got a magical bum." George takes a deep breath, then sits up. He moans, holding his head. "I'm _dying_."

Josh shakes his head and heaves George over his shoulder. "I'm dumping you into the bath. Don't drown."

This seems as good a way as any to get to the bathroom from the floor, so George just lets it happen. "I'll try my best not to."

He does wish, belatedly, that Josh wasn't so literal about dumping him in the bath, though, as now his pajamas are all wet.

He washes the vodka stink off and gives his hair a wash because it's still hairspray-sticky from last night's show. He doesn't know why he bothers; they'll wash it again when he gets to the studio and then hairspray it all back up again.

He tries to sink under the water for a while to see if that helps his head, like Tony in that spooky commercial for the first gen of _Skins_ , but mostly it just gets water in his ears.

Once he's dried and dressed and beanied, he trudges back out where Josh is waiting.

"Slightly less dying," he mutters, holding his head. "Coffee. Please."

Josh looks up from where he's fluffing his quiff. "Yeah, alright. Let's go. Your mobile's on the table."

"Thanks." George retrieves it, and checks to make sure he didn't text anyone anything he's going to have to regret when he's fully functional.

He hasn't. He does see the missed messages from Harry and Louis, though, and that makes his chest ache as much as his head: for the next year, most of their relationship will be missing each other's messages while he's alone here, and they're together out there.

But that – that is far too depressing to think about before he's had coffee, and definitely too depressing to think about today of all days.

Josh's hand claps his shoulder. "Are you alright, George? Your eyes have gone red."

"Fine, I'm fine." George clears his throat. "Just – yeah. Fine."

Josh is quiet the rest of their way down to the restaurant, too, feeling the solemnity of the day. Sundays always suck. This Sunday sucks the most.

"Where're the others?" George asks in the elevator. The lights are too bright. His head hurts. He wants coffee.

"Jaymi's heading back from Luton," Josh says. "JJ's downstairs with Jahmene. They're eating breakfast."

"Coffee goes with breakfast," mutters George. "I missed Jaymi."

"I know; I'm a poor replacement," Josh says. "A sorry excuse for a J. But you smelt rank; I wasn't going to cuddle you. Soz."

"No, you're a lovely J," says George, forcibly cuddling Josh's arm. "Promise. Entirely adequate. Even if you're being very mean and I did not smell rank."

"Clearly you didn't smell yourself," Josh says, and that's the end of that.

They eat breakfast in near silence, even after Jaymi turns up partway through and joins them. They swap out Jahmene for James, as well, and are all quiet.

George doesn't want this. He doesn't want everything to be silent and sad and even if it is an ending he doesn't want it to feel like a bad one.

He pushes his face into the side of Jaymi's shoulder. Then, he bites.

Jaymi yelps, jumping in his seat. "Jesus," he huffs, rubbing his arm and half-laughing at George. "Are you a monkey or a cat or a vampire?"

"I'm a George," George says. "And I want you to cheer up."

"By making me bleed?" Jaymi shakes his head, but he puts his arm around George, which is nice. "Anyone ever told you you're very weird, Monkey?"

"Every day of my life," George confirms. "But I want everyone to be _talking_ at least, and I've accomplished that. Although talk quietly. My head's going to explode."

Jaymi sighs. "You're right. Feels like a funeral in here. I, for one, would like it if we could all pretend that today is an amazing day."

"It is an amazing day," Jahmene says earnestly. "It's the semifinal results of the X Factor, and we're all here. That's amazing."

"That _is_ amazing," George agrees. "See? Loads to talk about."

They don't, though. Because it's one thing to say that you're going to be optimistic, and another to really feel it, and it's clear that they don't. No matter what happens, odds are, someone at this table is going home, because for some reason Christopher just keeps hanging on and hanging on.

They can fake it. For a while. After tonight, it won't matter.

They get notices from the crew about how close the voting is, because even the producers want to keep Union J more than they want to keep Christopher, but he's pulling ahead. Only a few hundred votes. Less than five hundred; such a tiny number.

George messages Harry and Louis a few times: _I miss you. I'm really sad. I love you. Where are you now?_

Finally he gets a response: _America. Just got off a flight. We have a few free if you want..?_

_Please._ is what he sends back. He feels pathetic, but not so pathetic that he'll forego getting to see them, even for just a minute.

He has an idea, then. A tiny thought, and probably a stupid one, but he's so hungover and so depressed and so _fucking desperate_ for the last three hundred votes that he's just going to do it.

They already did a dodgy TwitCam earlier but now it's just him, so he sneaks off (probably should be doing something else, but fuck it) to the toilet so he can have himself a talk with a camera.

He's really speaking to Harry and Louis. Even if they're not talking back – he doesn't think he could handle seeing them right now, hearing their voices, but he needs to let them know.

He doesn't talk for very long, because he doesn't have very long, and it comes out a little – weird, because he can feel every emotion he's ever had building up in his throat. He does say it, though.

"Love you," he chokes out through a half-giggle. "Sorry if, um, like, yeah." And then he stops the broadcast.

Immediately, his mobile buzzes.

_We love you, too .x SO much!! .xxxxxxx_

He can't stop laughing, except he's pretty sure it's not laughing, it's just hysterical clucking or something.

He's alright with leaving.

He is. He really is.

(He isn't, but he has to be. So he'll say he is enough that he'll think it.) 

There's nothing they could have done better that they haven't already worked to fix, like their harmonies (fucking harmonies) and jumping off boxes (which he misses, actually).

There's nothing. Nothing they could've done better.

But there's still a part of him that withers when Dermot doesn't say their name.

Jaymi sings "prince" instead of "princess," though, in their exit song and George could just burst with pride for him. And Josh's voice quavers because he's a weeper, and he catches George when he nearly falls off the stage, and JJ sings loudly enough to be _heard_ , and George thinks: we've done well. Better than most.

They hug, and they hug again when they get backstage. It's just them in this, and it's just them who know how to feel right now, and it's just them who understand.

They stay tangled together for a long time until Xtra, and a long time after. They only break apart when Olly comes over to collect Jaymi, and that spurs the rest of them to fade apart for the night, each to nurse their sorrows their own way. The studio empties, but no one bothers George about leaving, and he's glad. He wants to stay just a little bit longer.

George doesn't know if he should call them. It's less heartbreaking after-the-fact, when he's been preparing for this all day, to be voted off. It still hurts, of course it still hurts, but he's been resigned to it.

Still, they're not here and George is sad and he doesn't want to be alone but he is, because everyone's gone off to deal with everything, and he just, he just wants Harry and Louis. He feels so selfish, the night before the biggest night of their lives and he's considering calling them up to... He doesn't even know. Cry at them, maybe, or just ask them to talk to him so he doesn't have to think for a while.

He dials Harry's number without thinking. Harry pays more attention to his phone, but he _is_ in New York and he might not even answer. George doesn't know what he'd do then.

He doesn't even know what time it is there. Balls-early, probably, and they need to sleep for their big day, but. Well, it was George's big day, the biggest ever, and now it's over. All of it.

He's being a bit melodramatic; there is still the tour, and Ella will even be with him every day again for that. But right now it's just a million miles away, like everything else George wants to have right now.

The line picks up, and George is genuinely surprised. "Georgie," says Harry. George can already tell – there's just something in Harry's tone, and he can _tell_ that somehow Harry knows already.

George coughs to clear his throat. "Yeah, I'm. Hi. Sorry if it's late. Or early."

"It's not, it's still afternoon here." Harry's voice is quiet and the sort of sympathetic George can't even get angry about because it's nowhere close to pity. "You've just finished Xtra, right?"

George nods, then remembers that Harry can't see him, shrugs, and finally says, "Yeah, just. Everyone's packed up and left."

"Are you still at the studio?" Harry sounds like he's shuffling about and George wonders, vaguely, where he is. "Or have you got back to the hotel?"

"I'm at the studio," George sighs. "I just can't... I know it's stupid, because we're singing at the final next week with everyone else and there's the tour and we've lasted really a long time, longer than I thought we would, but. I just don't want to leave and go back alone. Makes it _feel over_."

"So don't go back." Harry's voice perks up, but slowly. George doesn't even know if that's possible, but Harry's nearly chipper by the end of his sentence. "Look, you've got a driver to get you back to the hotel or something, right?"

"Yeah," George says. "And my things are already packed. I didn't want to have to linger too much. It'd hurt."

"Alright." Now Harry just sounds determined, which is slightly scary. "I've got a plan. You're not going to go back to the hotel, alright? But you're not going home yet."

"Right," George confirms. "My mum wanted to come down for this show and I asked her not to. I'd rather wallow in solitude."

"Well, you're not doing that, either." Harry, while he's determined, is equal measures intimidating and just. Sort of cute. "You're going to the airport."

"I am?" George blinks. "And where am I to get a ticket? And _to_ where am I to get a ticket?"

"I'll get it fixed, I'm like, important or something, people listen to me," Harry insists. "I'll sort it. Ever been to New York?"

"Yeah, actually," George says. "On my design course. If I hadn't got on the show, I was actually set to take a job there."

"Well, this'll just be for fun." Harry laughs. "You get to the airport. I'll get everything sorted, don't worry."

George feels a little bloom of warmth. Harry is going to take care of him. "Alright. I'll go to Heathrow, then."

"Right, you will." Harry's voice lowers. "Once you get there, call me back, and I'll tell you the rest of the plan. I've got you, George."

George smiles a little to himself, even though he still feels like he's been crushed by a steamroller of feelings. "Okay. I should be there soon, I suspect. Not as much traffic this time of night."

"That's right, it's late there. Time zones are weird. I knew it was late there but the sun's still out here," says Harry. "Be careful. Don't forget: Call me when you get there."

"I will," George says. Like he'd forget that; otherwise he's just a weirdo in an airport without any luggage and no ticket. And wearing makeup and lots of hairspray. He'll end up in a security detention if he doesn't ring Harry, as it's basically a mask.

"Good boy," Harry replies. He clears his throat. "I'm really sorry, love," he says more softly. "I know how much it meant to you."

That makes George's throat hitch and close up and all he can do not to cry is mumble a little string of nothing. He just tries to breathe.

"I love you," says Harry clearly. "I'll talk to you in a little while, okay? Got a few calls to make, quick errands to run, you know how it goes."

"Right," George manages. "I'll – I love you, too. Will you tell Louis I love him?"

"Of course I will. He'll want to speak with you, too, I expect, when you call me back. That'll be alright, won't it?"

"Of course," George says effusively. "I'm – for whatever else, I'm glad being here meant meeting you two."

It takes a moment for Harry to respond. "I'm really glad we met you, too," he says. He sounds choked up, a little bit, but it might be George's imagination. Harry continues, "Sorry, sorry, big weekend. Big emotions."

"Right, right, yeah." George stands. "I'll go now. Talk to you soon."

"You will. Yeah." Harry coughs. "Bye for now, sweetheart."

George smiles a little. He takes a last long, aching look out over the massive empty space of the studio, walks across the stage just because he can now and not again, and goes off to find his driver.

He's not hard to find, because George really was just about the last person left at the studio, and he doesn't even ask questions when George says he has to go to the airport. George is really going to miss him.

George is going to miss everything. Now that it's gone, it's like he's noticing everything anew.

He tries to commit it all to memory, even though he knows he'll probably be back. He'll definitely be back one way or another. Besides, there are better things to worry about, like how Harry's going to manage anything from in _New York_ , or what he's going to do once he gets to the airport. He trusts Harry, of course, but it's still. It's still quick.

Then again, Harry is _awfully_ famous. He's certainly pulled off feats before.

For all George knows, Harry will have procured a TARDIS from somewhere and he'll be standing _in_ the airport when George gets there.

To George's slight disappointment, that's not the case. The airport's not as busy as it's been when George has been there before, but it's not empty, and the rush of people when he's been moping alone for quite some time is jarring.

He's just retrieving his mobile from his pocket when someone in a crisp uniform sweeps over to him and says, "Mr. Shelley?"

"Er," says George intelligently. "Oh, well, yes. Yeah, that's me."

"I'll need to see some identification," they say, "And assuming you are you, then you're to come with me."

That's vaguely frightening, but George dutifully digs his wallet from his pocket and procures his identification, holding it up. He's skinnier in the face now but it's still obviously him, and the official-person-intimidating-thing gives it a close look before nodding. "Right, with me."

George follows along at a quick clip.

"Do you have your passport?"

"Yeah," George replies. He keeps that in his wallet as well and he's lucky because it completely slipped his mind that he'd need it. God, he needs to get out of his head a little or he'll end up falling out of the plane. If he's getting on a plane. This might be an elaborate joke and he'll end up on a bus to Hull.

"Excellent. Any luggage?"

George shakes his head.

"Makes my job much easier." 

This is all going so quickly. George hopes Harry knows what he's doing and George isn't about to be kidnapped.

They push George through security faster than he'd imagined was still, like, legal, and then he's being walked right across the tarmac to a waiting plane.

"We held it from takeoff as Mr. Styles requested," the attendant explains, and George blanches.

"Am I going to be attacked by angry passengers?" he asks nervously. "I didn't mean to put anyone out."

"It's nearly empty," they assure him. "You're only boarding a bit late." George is handed a ticket for a seat in business class, which he's never flown before.

Tonight's a night of new things, he supposes. Being actually voted off rather than in the bottom two, and then all of this ruckus over him. Maybe he'll get voted off the X Factor more often. It's very exciting so far.

Although also depressing. He hides that thought away rather quickly, lest the universe get any bright ideas.

The plane _is_ nearly empty, and other than George there's only one other person in business class, a woman who looks like she's halfway to sleep. She gives George a small polite smile when he sits down, which is quite nice of her.  
He tries to smile back.

"You're from the X Factor, aren't you?" she asks, a little blearily. "Or The Voice?"

"I'm not on either," George says. And it's not a lie.

That stings a bit.

"Oh, sorry, my mistake. You look like him," she mutters. George hopes she does get some sleep, or she might fall over even though she's sitting down.

The takeoff procedure seems to start straight away, to a bedraggled cheer from the few lonely souls back in coach. George buckles in, then remembers at the last moment that he never did get a chance to ring Harry and quickly pulls up BBM –

_On the plane. Don't know how you did it._

_The power of LOVE !!!_ is Harry's response, followed immediately by, _I'll see you when you get here. Sorry about the long flight._ and a series of emojis.

George doesn't have the foggiest idea what a tempura prawn has to do with this situation, but it does seem to be Harry's default emotion when texting.

He must really like them. Or maybe he's just weird.

It really is a long flight, though, and George wasn't expecting it, and he's had – well. Quite a day.

He pays an enormous sum of money for a pair of headphones and settles in to sleep.

The flight's long enough that George wakes up and he's still on the plane (which makes sense, and it's comforting nobody's moved him off the plane in his sleep). He groggily asks one of the flight attendants how long is left in the flight, and he must have slept ages because there's only an hour left.

 

He blinks a lot because his eyes have gummed shut from the mascara and having to leave his contacts in overnight. There's a program he's never seen on the seatback telly, though, and he watches that blithely until the screen warns him that they are entering New York airspace and it shuts off.

George's heart feels like it's actually in his throat. He swallows and it hurts a little. He has no idea what he's supposed to do once he's off the plane. Harry didn't get to that bit. George trusts him, though. It'll be alright.

He scrubs his hands through his hair and stretches and hopes that he looks alright. Probably looks as though he's been put through the ringer, since he feels like it.

His hair feels disgusting. He could do with a wash, but as he's on a fecking plane, he can't imagine he's getting one of those for a while.

But maybe – well, maybe he can have a shower with Harry and Louis, and that thought perks him up a bit. Although he has no idea what time it is, either. He doesn't actually know what _day_ it is, if he's honest.

They're probably asleep. Would they be asleep? It's a long flight, but Harry'd said it was still afternoon for them. George doesn't know. The plane's descending, though, so he won't have long to wait to find out.

George rings Harry as soon as the pilot deems it's safe to use cellular devices.

Harry picks up before the first ring is even complete. "Have you landed? Course you've landed, stupid question," he chastises himself. "You're alright, plane didn't crash or anything?"

"Erm, I don't know I'd be ringing you if I had died in a crash," George laughs. "I'm not a ghost. I promise."

"Never had a ghost in my bed before. Could be interesting. Glad you're not dead, though." Harry yawns into the phone. "We've sent someone to bring you to our hotel. Shouldn't take too long, and you'd better get here quick or the bed will get cold."

"Looking forward." George yawns back, although he did just get fuck-all hours of sleep on the plane. He could certainly do with a cuddle.

"Did you want to speak to Louis? He's here now, we've been pining together." Harry laughs sleepily. It's adorable. Too adorable for how late it is. "Are you hungry at all, too? We could get you something. Or tea. Or whatever you want."

George's stomach rumbles. "Yes, please. And yes, please, although I might cry as soon as I see you so probably nothing too big."

"Don't cry," says Harry, though he's starting to sound a bit sniff fly again himself. George can hear the phone being passed off, and then Louis' voice, much more alert than Harry's.

"Georgie? It's me."

"Hi," George sighs, and yes, that's done it a bit. The sound of Louis' voice so full of concern makes George's throat bunch up again.

"Hey, babe," Louis replies. "Saw you on the computer, we did a sort of weird streaming thing. You looked dashing."

George sniffs. "Thanks. You can see it a bit disheveled in person. I'm still in my costume."

"It'll be fun to take off." Louis laughs. "I've, I've missed you. Wish circumstances were a bit different, but... I'm so glad you're here. You should be here."

George feels very small even as he stands to stretch again. "Just miss you a lot. I'm excited to see your show."

"I'm excited for you to see our show, too." Louis laughs again, and it sounds a little more hysterical. "Biggest stage in the world, innit? Big deal. Really big deal."

George smiles into the phone, a bit sadly. "I have faith in you."

"Thanks, love." Louis' voice gets softer. "We'll wait up for you. But then we've got to actually sleep, as we've got this gig tomorrow."

"Right, yeah," George says. "I did sleep on the plane, but... I'm sad enough I could probably sleep for three days."

Louis makes a bit of a clucking noise at him, like a concerned mum. "No, then you'll miss our show. You can sleep until morning, though. These beds are massive, could fit all of the boys and you on one of them."

"Erm," George hedges. "Just to clarify: I don't want to do all five of you. Not even for luck. Not that I think you'd – just, I've moved on from my days of fucking entire boy bands, I think. Had to outgrow it sometime."

Louis bursts into laughter. "Oh, god, oh, no, no, no. I didn't mean, yeah, no. Just, I meant we could all fit on one, not that we'd all. You're not fucking anyone else in my band."

"Okay," George says. He grins; making Louis laugh is basically the best thing in the world, and since his day has been more or less the equivalent of being shat on by the gods of luck and television, it feels extra-satisfying to make Louis happy.

"Couldn't, anyway." Louis still sounds a bit wheezy. "Liam would never go for it. Massive orgies aren't his thing."

"Oh, well, good to know," George says. "I'll have to refrain from seducing him, then."

"Probably for the best," agrees Louis. "Doesn't lend himself to being seduced, does Liam."

"Lucky you're the one I ran into in that club," George murmurs. He doesn't want to be in this airport anymore; he wants to be with Louis, with Harry, he wants to be clean and all cried out and cuddled.

"Lucky," Louis says back, quiet and he sounds like he's smiling. "Yeah, we're really lucky. We'll be seeing you soon, alright?"

"Yeah," George says. "Do I just get a cab?"

"We've called one of our drivers. Just linger near baggage and he'll find you, okay? If he hasn't in ten minutes call me again and I'll sort it."

"Alright," George confirms. "I don't have any baggage, but I'll wait here. Thank you."

"Yeah, you'll have to bum clothes off Harry, I think. He always brings too much, anyway," Louis murmurs thoughtfully. "Give us a ring when you're close. Or if you get lonely. Or frightened. Or like, anything."

George giggles. "Alright. I will. Thanks." He pauses. "I like sharing your clothes, but I hope I will spend some time naked, too."

"Oh, I don't think there's any doubt of that," Louis replies. "We've got a plan. I think you'll like it."

George's heart flutters.

"See you soon," repeats Louis. He sounds sort of smug, before the line clicks off.

George wanders around baggage claim for a little while and tries his best to look unsuspicious. He isn't suspicious, but being aware of your own lack of guilt sometimes makes a person look shifty.

"Mr. Shelley?" It's the second time George has been called that today, and it's no less weird.

nods and sweeps his fringe out of his eyes.

"Can I see some identification?" he's asked again. "Protocol, you understand."

George digs around in his pockets and comes up with his passport. He holds it out and it's taken away; it takes longer to be verified by One Direction's security than Heathrow Airport's.

That's... reassuring, of a sort. It's good that they're thorough, though a little worrying that airplane security isn't as such.

Once George's identity is confirmed, he's whisked away in a towncar with tinted windows. There's bottled water in the backseat, and George helps himself.

He's overheated, because the plane was cold and then he was thrust into the airport where the heating seemed to be up all the way. It's cold in New York in December, which George should've expected.

Thankfully, he has on his Union J-acket. Such an awful pun.

It doesn't take as long as he might have thought before the car is coming to a slow stop. The driver confers with somebody outside the window before they continue to the back of the hotel. Jesus, George knew that One Direction had intense security, but this is... scary. He hopes it's not because it's necessary and more as a precaution.

He can't imagine needing this much security, but then again, George doesn't think of fans as scary, really. If he needed a ride home from the train station or something, he'd probably let fans drive him. They're just pretty zombies.

Maybe One Direction fans are different. They're probably definitely different, if all this security is any indication.

If even Ed Sheeran is getting cake full of hair, One Direction must get... biscuits made of live bees, or something.

George takes a moment to ponder that, and how would you bake the biscuits without killing the bees? Or would you not bake them, like no-bake biscuits, and what holds the bees together in the biscuit?

He manages to keep thinking about that until he's ushered into the hotel and through the hallways, which is a feat.

The massive human person ushering George through the hallways knocks at a door on the very top floor of the hotel (the floor marked 'Penthouse Suites' on the map George had seen in the elevator.)

"Magic word!" comes a very familiar voice from behind the door. 

The massive human person rumbles out a sigh, but doesn't seem surprised. Maybe Louis does this to people all the time. That wouldn't surprise George at all.

"I've got a delivery for you, Tomlinson, stop mucking about," the massive human says to the door. "Unless you want me to take it back."

"Does it have curly hair?" Louis presses. "If it doesn't have curly hair, send it back where it came from."

Massive Human gives George a cursory glance. "Bit wilted from the plane journey, I should think, but it's still a bit curly. It's three in the morning, kid. Open the door."

The door does open, then, and there's Louis. Louis, shirtless and looking soft and brown and warm and wearing only flannel pajamas, his hair sleep-rumpled and a scruff of stubble along his jaw. He's beautiful.

"Night," says Massive Human, immediately, nudging George before trundling off down the hallway. George doesn't need any nudging to burrow himself into Louis' arms, as close as he can get and then trying to wriggle closer. Louis smells a little like Harry and a little like shower.

Hey, love," Louis murmurs, rubbing George's back. "I'm so sorry you're not here to celebrate, but I'm not sorry you're here."

"I missed you," mumbles George. It seems like it's not at all enough, but it's true and it's how George is feeling and he just, he's _missed_ Louis and it'll be worse when they're properly on tour but right now George feels warm and safe and like he's come home even though he's thousands of miles away from England.

"I know," Louis whispers. "You were really amazing tonight, George. You were. All four of you, but especially you, I thought."

"I nearly fell off the stage," George recalls. He stifles a giggle in Louis' shoulder. "Josh saved me."

"I saw." Louis' fingers tuck up under the back of George's jacket, underneath his shirt. "Glad you didn't fall off and break your head."

"Me, too," George says seriously. He just keeps clutching onto Louis' waist. Now that he's here, he doesn't plan on letting either Louis or Harry go unless he absolutely has to.

Like Harry's heard him, the door thunks closed behind George and then there's another warm body pressed up against his back. George is reminded – suddenly, viscerally – of the first time he'd been with both of them, and they'd danced like this at that club before George had been on the show at all. And now he's off the show but Harry and Louis are still... here.

That's what makes him start to cry.

"Oh, Georgie," whispers Louis in his ear, slowly rubbing George's back, and Harry's hands are on his hips and Louis is kissing behind his ear and Harry's kissing his hair a little and it's all, everything is so much.

"I just, I really thought people at least liked us more than _Christopher_ ," George hiccups.

Louis makes a noise a bit like a strangled cat. "Course they do, they like everyone more than they like Christopher. I've not met anyone who likes him, and I know a lot of people."

But – wh-why then?" George knows that he's whining, but he doesn't really care at the moment, not when he's surrounded by HarryandLouis. "We were _so close_ , that's all. It just – it fucking sucks."

"I know it does. We know," Harry says into his hair. "You'll still be amazing, though, I know you will. You guys are good together."

Louis slips his thumb beneath George's shirt and strokes his waist. "Did you let them know you were, you know, leaving the continent?"

"Didn't really have time. I was told to go straight to the airport, so I did." Probably not his smartest move, actually, but when Harry tells him to do things, he does them. "I should call... someone."

"D'you want to ring Jaymi and let him know you're here?" Harry asks. "I can, if you don't want."

"I want to stay here," George mumbles. Letting go of Louis right now sounds like the worst sort of idea and he's not too keen on Harry moving, either.

Alright," Harry agrees. "We can call him in a little while."

"Yeah," George sighs. He relaxes, leaning his head down onto Louis' shoulder. "Yeah, in a while."

Louis presses little kisses to the side of George's face. "D'you want a bath or anything? Food? Tea?"

"Just you." George has forgotten any hunger if he was, and tea would mean having to separate from Louis and Harry. "Maybe a bath? I'm gross."

"Alright," Louis agrees. He kisses George's temple. "I know you probably want to go under, too, but I can't before our show; we won't be able to pay enough attention to you until it's done. Is that alright?"

George sighs. He's missed being under so much, and he wants it so badly, but he does understand. "Yes," he mutters. "Of course, yeah."

Harry nuzzles into the back of George's neck. "When you feel like it, just say the word and I'll run you a bath, alright?"

"I smell like hairspray and loser," grumbles George. He doesn't even know what loser would smell like. Well, like him. "I'll get loser stink on you."

"You don't smell like loser." Harry sounds a little scandalized. "You smell like semifinalist."

"I smell like fourth place." George sighs and leans back against Harry as well as he can without letting go of Louis. "I smell like _defeat and failure_."

"We smell like third place," Harry offers. "I hope I don't smell like defeat and failure."

"No." George heaves another sigh. "You smell like Harry. Which is nice." He closes his eyes. "Sorry, bit of a downer on your big day. I'll shut up."

"It was your big day, too," Louis reminds him. "It's not like we invited you here thinking you'd be over the moon. We want you here with us however you're feeling."

"I'm happy for you, though. And happy I do get to be here, with you." George gives Louis his best smile. "This is... This is amazing, and I get to see it."

Harry tweaks George's hair. "I feel guilty for being glad you're able to skive off and come watch."

"How's that going to work, by the way?" asks George curiously. "Isn't the show all sold out?"

"Not from the wings," Harry says proudly. "You get the best seat in the house, unless you really mind hanging about with Perrie and Danielle."

That's... No, George doesn't really mind, even if it makes him a bit nervous. He met Little Mix when they performed on the show and he's met Danielle but he hasn't met either of them in this context, in a One Direction context.

Well. Danielle will be on the tour, he knows. Won't hurt to make another friend, will it?

"No, I don't mind," he says aloud. "Much nicer than being surrounded by screaming girls. Unless they'll be screaming." He frowns. "I'll probably be screaming."

Louis laughs at that and gives George's side a little pinch. "Good. Now that you don't have to sing solo for a bit, you don't need to spare your voice." He leaves a very open, suggestive pause after his words and before kissing George's neck.

George's soft, content noise is involuntary. "Well, I don't have to sing at all until rehearsals for the finale. We could probably take advantage of that, you know. If you wanted."

Louis' mouth is warm as he smirks against George's skin. "I very much do."

Harry hums and slips his huge hands beneath the fabric of George's shirt to pet at his stomach. "Did you want that bath now, sweetheart?"

"Yes, please." He'd rather stay here, to be honest, but he is dirty and hairsprayed to death. A bath sounds heavenly.

Louis kisses George's lips very softly before stepping away so Harry can lead George through their gargantuan suite to the bath.

"Holy shit," George mutters. The size of everything in this hotel is ridiculous, really, and the bath is no different. It's so big George is pretty sure all three of them could fit in it with room to spare.

"Posh, innit?" Harry asks gleefully. "It has a whirlpool thing in it and everything. And there's an ice bucket, in the bath, in case you fancied a drink while bathing."

"This is insane," says George, tilting his head back to look at the ceiling. "This is – You're like, proper famous. I knew that, but it's still, like. You're. _Superstars_."

Harry just grins, cocksure and sleepy and confident. "Yeah. We really are."

"But we're also very modest about it." Louis claps his hands onto Harry's shoulders, then ruffles his hair. "And we don't ever forget where we came from." It sounds like something he's said before, like a reminder.

"Yeah, yeah," Harry grumps. "Just let me show off for Georgie, can't you?"

"I don't really need to be shown off to," says George with a grin. "You've already ensnared me. Bewitched me. Whatever."

"But I like showing off," Harry says. "And the size of my cock is old news, so it's got to be the size of my Jacuzzi."

"Alright, you little demon, show off all you want." Louis sighs, rolling his eyes and then kissing Harry's cheek. "Suppose you've earned the right."

Harry's cheeks dimple. George feels warm, watching them, really being here, being in _New York City_ because they wanted him here enough to have flown him halfway across the world in the dead of night.

Louis kneels down beside the taps to fiddle with the temperature of the water. George likes him like this, all softness and slightly sleepy. He's more human, this way.

He's compelled to give Louis more of a cuddle, so he does, plonking right down on the linoleum to wrap his arms around Louis' waist and rest his face against the soft of Louis' back where his shoulder blade peeks like a wing.

Louis laughs and George can feel the rumble of it through his skin. "What're you doing, monkey? I'm not a tree for you to climb on."

"Just... here," George mutters. Even though he's slept, the darkness and soft city sounds muffling through the windows are making him feel tired and needy.

It's good that Louis seems to understand. His fingers are wet from the water when he puts his hand over the one George has on his stomach. "Yeah, I know, love," he says softly. "I know."

George is very quiet as the enormous tub fills, and he lets Harry gently unbutton his costume shirt and slide it away from his shoulders.

"I met Aiden," he comments before Harry's fingertips find the fasten on his trousers. "I – don't think I told you."

Harry's fingers only stall for a moment before they continue their journey. "No, you hadn't mentioned." He kisses George's bare shoulder. "How was that?"

George blinks a few times. He can feel Louis' eyes on his back. "It was alright. He's nice."

"He is nice," Louis agrees quietly. He sounds... cautious, maybe. "I haven't spoken to him in ages, but he's always been very nice."

"That's what he said," George tests. "That you hadn't talked to him in a while."

"Yeah, yeah. How'd this meeting come about, anyway? Shift," Harry instructs, tugging George's trousers down his legs when George lifts up.

"Erm, Caroline and I were getting lunch and she was also meeting a friend," George says carefully, because they're all awfully close to naked. "And that, erm, her friend, that is, he'd got a new – he'd found a – I am no longer in this friend's sights?"

"Oh!" Harry exclaims, patting George's hip. "Oh, yeah, right. Forgot about that. Well, that's a bit awkward, isn't it?"

"I thought maybe they were all going to murder me," George admits. "But they didn't, so that's good."

"That's very good," agrees Harry, nuzzling against George's shoulder. "I would've mentioned, but I guess I didn't see how it'd be relevant. It's good you know, though, probably."

"Aiden asked to be kept quiet all day because he had to record the next," George recalls. He hesitates. "Could I do that sometimes? Like, can I ask for you to tell me to do things, or is that the opposite of you telling me to do them?"

"Of course you can ask for things you want." Louis sounds surprised. "I thought we'd made that clear. If you want us to try something new, or if you like something and you want to do it again, all you have to do is ask."

George feels a little pleased shock in his heart. "Okay." He pauses. "I can't have anything tonight? Even a little?"

"I'd love to." Louis shuffles on his knees until he can kiss George, gently touching his jaw. "I really would, because I know it's been so long for you, but I can't. Not when we're not going to be able to be with you when we're onstage."

George sighs and nods, tucking himself back up into Louis' arms again because he just wants to be close. "I get it. I really do. After your show, though, can we – however long you keep me here, can we just do everything? Like, like everything we couldn't before 'cause I had to leave right away for the show, now I don't, so can we – just everything?"

"I think that sounds perfect," Louis whispers in his ear, before kissing the side of George's head. "I'd love that."

George shivers a bit.

Louis swats George's bum lightly through the starched trousers he's still got on. "Now finish getting naked and get in the tub before it's cold and we have to start all over trying to fill this fucker."

George giggles, but does as he's told, wriggling out of his trousers the rest of the way and then letting Harry divest him of his pants. "Are you going to as well, or have I got this whole massive bath all to myself?"

Louis wrinkles his nose playfully and looks at Harry over George's head. "Might as well, Styles. You reek."

Harry gasps. "That's a lie! George said I smell good!"

"Yeah, well; George likes you," Louis says, letting his pajamas fall in a soft heap around his ankles. He's naked under them, and George can't help licking his lips. "Me, I barely tolerate your presence. Curls and dimples and stink."

"I take back the blowjob I gave you this morning," grumbles Harry, shimmying out of his own clothes. "You don't deserve it anymore."

George makes a little jealous noise, and Louis smirks, pushing the pad of his thumb gently into George's cheek, right at the dimple.

"Bath. In." Louis tugs lightly at the ends of George's hair. "You look like you've taken a shower with hairspray."

George giggles and climbs the steps – there are _steps_ into the _bath_ ; it's so huge – into the massive marble tub and settles down in the water, still so hot it's steaming over the surface and makes his skin feel pink right away.

Louis doesn't bother using the steps; just vaults over the side into the bath so quickly George is afraid water is going to go all over the floor. It's a near thing. Louis laughs, then, settling beside George. "Is the temperature alright? Can't do anything about it if it isn't."

George just groans a little and sinks deeper into the water so his hair submerges. It takes a second for water to get through the shellac of hairspray, but then he's surfacing with a wet head, feeling much more like himself.

"You look ridiculous," Harry snorts, rearranging George's fringe so that he can see. "How much of this stuff do they use on you?"

"A lot," George says, eyes wide. "My hair is not naturally curly. But they need it to look like yours."

"It doesn't." Harry frowns, scrubbing his fingers through George's hair. "I like it better when it's all straight. Easier to get my fingers into."

George smiles, and a rivulet of water runs into his eye from where Harry's playing with his fringe. "I like when you play with my hair."

"Good, because it's fun to play with." Harry maneuvers George carefully until he's settled between Louis' legs, and then continues to fiddle with his hair. "Even when it's all hairsprayed."

George sighs and nestles into the circle of their arms and warm, slippery skin and sweet-smelling bubbles and steaming water.

It's perfect, and amazing, and George can hardly recall why he was so upset. He remembers it on one level, how he's been voted off the show and Christopher's still on it and he wasn't good enough – but on this other level, this level with Harry and Louis and the bath, it just doesn't seem to matter as much.

That might be the jet lag talking, but he doesn't think so, really. It's just Harry and Louis, being around them. They're sort of magic.

And he feels magical around them, sometimes. Like nothing can go wrong, even when he's not floating. Like they'll make it better without even trying.

He supposes, very quietly, that's what love is.

"This is nice," he says out loud, humming softly when Louis presses a kiss to his wet neck. "Thank you."

"Thank you for flying out," Louis whispers back. His hands are slow and sleepy as they stroke George's back. "We really wanted you to get to see the show. We want you here."

"Sort of can't believe I actually am here," says George. "I mean, it seems like five minutes ago I was having my soul crushed in front of an audience of millions."

Harry kisses the back of George's shoulder. "It won't feel real for a while yet. But we wanted to be with you when it sinks in."

"I would want you to be there when it sinks in, too." George tries a smile on. "I was expecting it, we all were. Knew we'd come fourth. Glad we made it this far at all."

Louis smiles. "That's the ticket. Did you hear from Ella?"

"Not yet. Actually, probably, by now. I haven't been paying the closest attention to my phone," George admits. "I called her before the show."

"Good," Louis says. "She cares about you a lot, too."

"I know she does. There are a lot of people –" George swallows. "– There are a lot of people who care about me. More people than I could've expected when I auditioned."

Louis' eyes look soft at that, and he swallows twice before leaning in to kiss George's lips, warm from the steam and sweet from Louis and clinging.

I'm really pleased to hear that," Louis murmurs. "Because it's not just me and Harry, then, and I – feel better. About you. I feel like you're a bit better than you used to be, and for a while I thought we'd kind of made you worse."

George understands, then, why Louis had to take a moment before he spoke, because George has to as well. "You didn't," he says finally, a bit ragged but at least audible. "You've made me so much better. You made everything so much better. Both of you."

And then he's completely folded up in their arms, both of them, pressed tight between them just how he likes and they're all breathing each other's air and Harry's face is wet on the back of George's neck but he's not sure whether it's from the water.

Either way, it's one of those moments George doesn't think he'll ever forget. No matter what happens, if they keep him or if they – if they don't, George is sure that this moment is one that he'll always remember, in a bath in New York with two people he loves.

In the middle of the night, halfway across the world from where he's just lost the X Factor and hours before they take the stage at Madison Square Garden.

It's not real life. But it's his real life, isn't it? At least, it's his real life as long as it. Well. _Is_. And George is going to enjoy it as long as he can.

He has nearly a week to himself now, and he's going to enjoy it. There's no reason not to, is there? He's loved.

Loved in New York with Harry and Louis. His life is so different from how it was.

"Hey," says Louis quietly, scrubbing down George's chest. "You went off on an island all your own just then. Interesting thoughts?"

George just smiles at that and kisses Louis' jaw just to feel the scruff of it. "Yeah. Just thinking about how in less than six months, I've gone from being Parisa's party trick in Clevedon to... the fuck-off Ruler of the World Suite in New York City with you two."

"How'd I go from picking up extra shifts at a bakery to selling out Madison Square Garden?" asks Harry, shrugging a little. "Sometimes, really good things happen."

George nods. "Really good things. I don't think X Factor is really to help people be popstars," he says thoughtfully. "I think it's just... to help people. Find the right people for them. It made you two find each other, and the rest of One Direction, and I think the lads will be good for me. Even Josh. And I have an Ella now, of course."

"Maybe that's what the 'X' Factor is," reasons Harry. "It's not like having a good voice or anything, it's actually being able to find people to love."

"You're both soppy," Louis blusters. "Simon Cowell doesn't care about love. I once saw him kick a puppy and then eat a baby."

"That never happened," protests Harry loudly. "You tell that story _every time you meet someone_ and it's never true!"

You weren't there!" Louis argues, and George dissolves in giggles, resting his head on Louis' shoulder. "You don't know it's not true!"

"I do know it's not true," Harry replies, furrowing his brow. "Nobody would ever give Simon their child in the first place."

"Actually," George manages, between giggles, "I think the most unbelievable part is that Harry wasn't with you to see it."

"And that!" exclaims Harry, pointing gratefully at George. "I'm in the same place as you, like, always, and especially when we were on X Factor. I would've seen it happen."

Louis scowls. "You were asleep. I don't want to talk about it; it's upsetting."

"He needs more time to come up with details, more like," Harry mutters. "George, you're pruning up. Let's get out before you wither away."

George laughs again, pushing his pruny fingers against Harry's hips. "I don't know, I'm liking story time."

"Well..." Harry heaves George out of the tub and it's all very dangerous and slippery and unbalanced for a minute. "Once upon a time... there was a story." His brow furrows. "Louis and the lads say I'm bad at stories."

"No, that was very interesting," George assures. "Really, I was on the edge of my seat."

Harry's eyes flash and he gropes George. "I'll do something to the edge of your seat. As it were."

George squeals, legitimately squeals and then wants to hide in a cupboard somewhere.

Harry doubles over laughing, and Louis throws a towel over George's head to dry out his sopping hair, and even though it's half-four in the morning, it feels bright.

"Fuck," says Louis, as he notices the time. "We've got stuff to do tomorrow. We should all get some rest."

Harry yawns obediently and sways a little on his feet. "Okay." He traipses, pigeon-toed, towards the largest bed George has ever seen in his life and falls, face-first, onto the mattress with a naked _flump_.

"I'm going to get lost on there," George insists, stepping to the edge of it. It comes up to about mid-thigh and seems to be approximately as big as George's entire room at home.

Harry pats the bed lazily. "She's a beaut."

"Don't call the bed a she, that's weird," mutters Louis as he flops down beside Harry on the bed. Of course, on a bed that big, the word 'beside' is relative. "Join us on the bed, Georgie. _It_ is an absolute delight."

George hesitates just long enough to pluck a t-shirt that he knows is Harry's from the back of a chair and pull it over his head. Pants, too, although they're his own. He looks at them a little sheepishly. "Getting eliminated from X Factor doesn't feel very, like. Sexy. If we're not going to – we can; I'd be happy with that, too, but. If it's all the same."

"Whatever you like, darling." Louis smiles at him, and he doesn't look upset at all. It makes George feel warm. "We want you to be comfortable."

George crawls up over the blankets and settles himself between Harry and Louis, and there's still room to spare on all sides of the bed. It must have its own post code.

Once he's comfortable, Louis' arm comes around his waist from one side while Harry wriggles himself underneath George's armpit. It's so warm George doesn't think they'll even need the duvet.

"Good night, love," Louis murmurs. "Get some rest, 'cause you'll feel like shit in the morning, speaking from personal experience. Although we were really fucking drunk, and you aren't, so you might be fine."

"I could go for being really fucking drunk," mutters George. "But this is probably better."

"Another time," Harry mumbles into George's chest. "Night."

"Night," George replies, relaxing into the bed. It really is amazing. And even more amazing is being sandwiched between Harry and Louis on a night he thought he would be sad and angry and alone.

Their alarm clock rings a scant four hours later, and Louis was absolutely right: George feels like utter shit. He's jetlagged, he's both too sleepy and completely wired, there's a crick in his neck, and he feels like he's just been told by twenty million people that he isn't good enough to make his dreams come true.

Oh, right.

He has.

"No," he groans, shoving his face into a pillow. He doesn't want to wake up. He doesn't want to get up. He doesn't want to do anything except maybe sleep for another million years.

Scratchy hair and warm lips nuzzle behind his ear, which means even Louis is more awake than he is. A first. A sad, sad first.

"You can sleep longer if you like, love. We'll send Danielle for you around lunch. You should ring Jaymi and Ella back; they've been trying to reach you," Louis murmurs. He rubs George's shoulders and George moans, morning wood pushing into the mattress.

"No," he says again. Whining, he's definitely whining. He's allowed to whine; he's been voted off X Factor for god's sake. "No, stay. Here. Forever."

"Alright," Louis says indulgently. "There's an outfit laid out for you on the chair if you do choose to get up. I picked it out just for you."

That makes something thrill up George's spine. "Good," he sighs, stretching out his back. "I like that."

“I know," Louis says simply. He pats George's bum. "Order whatever you like for breakfast when you wake up. Try to eat something, alright?"

"Mm. Okay." George sighs again, and rolls over. "Kiss?"

Louis complies and pats George's cheek. "Sleep well. Cheer up."

"I'll try." George keeps his eyes closed, but smiles. "Will I get to see you again before tonight?"

"Dunno," Louis admits. "I hope so. Harry's left already 'cause he works out when he gets nervous. Weirdo."

"He must get nervous a _lot_." George burrows further into the blankets. "I hope I get to see you before you go on. But it's okay if I don't. You should be with, you know, them."

Louis smiles. "Well, you can meet them, too. You will, anyway. You've met them. I have to run; I've stopped making sense and I have to go get my face shorn."

"Okay. I'll miss you." George pauses, already half-back to sleep. "Love you."

"Love you, too." The blankets are pulled up over George, now that there aren't bodies in the bed to keep him warm. "You'll be alright. You'll see."

George smiles, but he can't find the effort to say more. He's warm and he feels loved and he's so, so tired.

He curls up in a little ball and sleeps. When he wakes again, the city sounds drifting from the street below are much louder, the sun peeking around the curtains much brighter, and his headache and neck ache cured.

He sits up in bed and stretches. It's quiet, apart from the sounds of New York City. He feels... Good. Not perfect, certainly, but much better than he felt before.

He rubs his eyes, and the neckline of Harry's t-shirt slips down over his shoulder. George shakes his head: it's hard to believe they're the same height when Harry is just so much _bigger_ than he is.

It smells like Harry, and George is alone, so he tugs the neck of it up and breathes in. He smiles.

Things will be alright.

He crawls across the wide expanse of the bed and fishes his mobile out of the pocket of yesterday's trousers.

He winces at the number of text messages and missed calls he has, from several different numbers. He picks the first one he sees – Jaymi's – and calls it.

"Where the fuck are you?" is the kind greeting he receives.

"Erm," George hedges, "Manhattan?"

He receives a shaky sigh, the one Jaymi uses when he's trying to be patient. Maybe the vein in his head is throbbing. "Why the _fuck_ are you in Manhattan and why didn't you tell anyone where you were going, you _idiot_?"

"It was a bit sudden, in my own defense," George offers meekly. "I'm... going to a concert? At Madison Square Garden?"

"Wait, you're with them? Or have you just decided this on a whim? Is this like a crisis you're having or something?" Jaymi just sounds confused now. And a little bit angry, still. "What's going on?"

"No, no, I'm with them," George assures him. "I didn't just like, lose it and wander to Manhattan. They flew me out last night. Well, Harry did. In Business Class. And I'm not with them right _now_ , but I'm in their suite. They're rehearsing."

"That's. Alright." Jaymi sighs again. "At least you aren't alone in New York. But you should've told someone. I've been really worried you'd done something stupid."

"I'm sorry," George says, and he means it. "It really was a rush, I just didn't have time and then I didn't – I'm sorry. Are _you_ guys alright?"

"Yeah, we've just been worrying our faces off over you. You didn't even come back to the hotel, and nobody could remember you leaving the studio."

"Oh, yeah, well, I'm not still there," George says. "A driver took me to Heathrow, didn't he tell anyone?"

"Probably, but nobody bothered telling any of us," grumbles Jaymi. "Ella's been panicking texting every half hour; have you called her already?"

"No, you were the first," George says. He curls up a little because he _does_ feel bad. "Could you maybe ring my mum while I let Ella know I'm alright?"

Jaymi sighs yet again. "Yeah, s'pose. Shall I tell her you've shacked up with One Direction in New York?"

"I – oh, shit, there's no other good reason for me to _be_ in New York, is there?" George buries his face in his own fringe. "Yeah, tell her that."

"I'm sure she won't have any questions at all." Jaymi snorts. "Okay, I'll tell her that. But I have a feeling you'll need to take a call from her sometime."

"Yeah, I will," George sighs. "But I'm more afraid of Ella, if I'm honest."

"And you should be," Jaymi assures him. "She might fly all the way there just to beat you up."

"Yeah, I know," George says grimly. "It's a good thing I have very, very rich boyfriends who can help me evade her wrath."

"Boyfriends now?" Jaymi asks. He sounds surprised, but gentle.

George bites his lip for a moment. He's never said that out loud, he doesn't think, and it's not quite the right word for it, but it'll do, for now. "Yeah," he says softly. "Yeah, boyfriends now."

There's a long, quiet silence.

"You're costing me a fortune," George finally says. "What?"

"I'm glad," Jaymi says. "I'm glad you know what you are to each other outside of just... bed."

Happiness wars with embarrassment in George's chest. "Yeah, well. Yeah. Yeah, I'm glad, too. I'm really happy with them, Jaymi," he says. "Really, really happy, like, happier than I thought I could be. And I feel so much better."

"Well, good," Jaymi says gruffly. "When we couldn't find you, I knew it either had to be the best or worst. You're fucking annoying and irresponsible and a pain in my arse, but... I'm glad it's the best."

"Love you, too, Jaymi," laughs George. "I'd better call Ella before she uses some sort of witchcraft to find me and kill me."

"I wouldn't put it past her," Jaymi agrees. "I saw her talons on Halloween."

George winces. "Yeah, I'm going to hang up now and deal with that. I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"You better," Jaymi threatens. "We miss already."

"I'll be back before the finale. Promise." George laughs again, just because he's happy. "Bye, Jaymi."

"Bye, George-Monkey," Jaymi says, and George feels light and happy as they disconnect, even though Jaymi _did_ call him a pain in the arse and even though Ella is liable to kill him.

He prepares himself with several deep breaths before he calls her, bracing himself and holding the phone a good four inches from his ear.

"George Alistair-I-never-actually-learnt-your-middle-name Shelley!" Ella cries. "Where in hell are you?"

"Manhattan, and my middle name's not Alistair but I could change it if you want me to," George says as quickly as he can. "I'm sorry?"

"Why are you in _Manhattan_?" Ella asks. "Manhattan... America? Why – how – when did you go to _America_?"

"Last night, I got a really late flight and now I'm in New York, and going to a concert tonight, and it all happened really really fast or I would've told you." George puts on an apologetic face even though Ella can't see him.

"Does One Direction know you're there, or will I have to get on a flight to bail you out of American jail?" Ella sounds exhausted. "I've seen that show _Oz_ , and I don't think you'll do well in American jail."

"No, no, Harry's the one who got me on the flight. I'm in the biggest hotel room I've ever even seen, Ella. It's bigger than my _house_. There's a bath I could _drown_ in." George flops back onto the massive bed. "Like, I knew they were massively famous and rich and things, but I'm really. Out of my element."

"Well, yes, you are, as your element is London and not leaving in the middle of the night so I worry to death."

"That, too." George huffs a laugh. "I really am sorry. There wasn't time before I left, and then I was on a plane for a million hours, and then I had a bath. And then I just slept. I should've called."

"You should have," Ella agrees. "And you should have brought me along. I want to go to Manhattan."

“And you will, when you're a world famous superstar and you sell out MSG yourself," says George. "So, like, next year."

He can practically hear Ella preening over the phone. "Oh, stop, you. You beat me, fair and square, you know, _and_ you're the one Nicole said would be selling out the O2."

"And _Adele_ said she loved you. I think you've got me beat. Even if Christopher ended up beating us both." George wrinkles his nose.

“So disappointing," Ella groans. "How did that happen, George?"

"I don't know, but I'm not happy about it. Neither is Louis, who might hate him more than I do." George sighs. "I just hope Jahmene pulls it out now."

"Or James," Ella says fairly. "He's really good. He deserved to beat me, too. Not that you didn't, I mean, in the bottom two."

George hums. James is good, really good, and in all likelihood he probably will win, but George doesn't think anybody deserved to beat Ella. "Wouldn't mind if he won, either, just. Jahmene's my boy."

"Yeah, he was worried about you last night, too," Ella says. "And his mum."

"I should've called everyone I know," George groans, rubbing his head. "I worried literally everyone."

"You did," Ella agrees. "I know you like to do what Harry and Louis ask of you. I know it's not even really something you can help. But if they ask you to do something like _fly across the world in the dead of night_ , can you let me know? Please?"

"Yeah," whispers George, guiltily. "Yeah, of course, I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to worry anyone."

"I know you didn't, George Monkey," Ella says. "I just love you. I wanna know you're alright."

"I'm really good. Really, really good." George smiles, just a little bit. "I get to watch from the wings."

"That's exciting," Ella says encouragingly. "I'm jealous. But I meant more like, how d'you feel about _you_? And Union J?"

"Bit shit, still," admits George. "I think – It might be better that I'm here. With them. Not that, like, I mean, all of you are amazing, I just think that I needed to be here now."

"I can understand that," Ella says. "You love them. Of course they'll help. But if they hurt you, George, I swear to God – "

"I'll be sure to warn them to mind themselves." George giggles, quietly, so Ella won't think he's not taking her seriously. "Or they'll have you to deal with."

"They will," she insists. "I can cut bollocks off as well as anyone, and it might improve One Direction's range if they have two sopranos."

"I'll mention that." George cringes, and has to shift a bit to make sure his own bollocks are still where they're supposed to be.

"See that you do." Ella sounds cross, but then sighs and softens. "I miss you, Georgie. Not just today, 'cause you're far away, just I miss seeing you every day." She hesitates, "Am I still your best friend?"

"Of course you're still my best friend!" George exclaims, vaguely horrified at the suggested that she'd ever be anything else. "You're my Ella. And I can't wait for tour, so I can see you all the time again."

Ella sounds much happier at this. "Me, too." She yawns. "What time is it where you are?"

"No idea," George admits. He rolls across the mattress until he can see the clock. "Noon."

"Time zones," grumbles Ella. "You've still got the whole day ahead of you, I expect."

"I do," George says. "And night, I'm hoping."

"I don't want to know!" Ella exclaims loudly. "You keep your deviances to yourself."

George just smiles. "I love you, Ella."

"I love you, too, Monkey," Ella replies, her voice gone quieter. "Have fun, alright? Stay safe."

"I always do," George promises. "I'll see you soon."

"Yes, you will. And you can tell me – not _all_ about it, but mostly about it."

She pauses. "The fun touristy bits and the romantic bits, you can tell me. And the concert bits."

"Noted." George smiles at the phone. "Bye, Ella."

"Bye, Georgie," she says. "I'm still cross that you scared me. But I love you. Have fun."

"I know, I love you too, and I will," George replies in order, before hanging up. Now he's only got... a billion more calls to make before he's fetched at a time he doesn't actually know.

It's all a bit much, so he curls up under the blankets with his pillow over his head for another little nap before continuing on.

He only emerges from the bed when there's a peppy knock at the door, in a pattern of three-two-two. Groaning, he drags himself out of the bed and hopes it's not a weird stalker fan, because that'd be hard to explain.

He peers out of the peephole and just sees curly hair. It isn't Harry's, though.

"Who is it?" he calls.

"Dani," comes the reply, amused. "Danielle Peazer, Louis said he'd told you I'd be coming to fetch you for lunch."

"Oh," George says. "Right, hang on, there's a lot of locks on this door."

"Yeah, they like to have a bit more in the way when they're rooming together," Danielle says, her voice wry. "Probably more when you're there as well."

George's hands slip on the third deadbolt he's attempting to slide across. "You know about that, then?"

"Well, they don't go blabbing about it to every person on the street, but it'd be hard to explain why you were here otherwise, you know?" Danielle replies. "They tell who they want to tell and nobody asks questions."

"Right," George says. He finally manages to get the door open and Danielle beams at him, waving, and very tall in her platform boots. "Hiya."

"Hello," Danielle says back. "Good to actually see you. D'you want me to give you a minute to get dressed and then we can go get some food? I'm starved."

"Er." George looks down at the grimy t-shirt of Harry's and day-old pants he's wearing. "Yes, thanks. I don't really fancy going out in this."

"Didn't fancy being seen with you in it." Danielle tips him a wink. "I can wait out here a bit longer."

"No, it's alright; come in," George says. "I can change in the bathroom. It's the size of an entire house."

"They do go a bit overboard with this sort of thing," Danielle notes, giving George a smile and stepping past him into the room. He's glad he's at least clean, or he'd feel really bad for subjecting her to him, with her pretty curls and her perfectly put-together outfit.

"You look nice," he says dutifully. "I'll try not to disappoint. Only be a moment."

"I'm not going anywhere." She gives him another wide smile, and her chipper attitude is a little bit infectious. George finds himself smiling as he takes the outfit Louis chose for him into the loo.

It's very nice, too. It's very _Louis_ , and it probably costs more than anything else George owns (at least that's wearable; he hopes it doesn't cost more than his laptop or his video camera, but you never know with Louis).

And it does look good on him. He twists a bit in the mirror to see himself from all the angles he can, and considering these aren't his trousers, they do fit really well.

It probably helps that he's more or less Harry's height, because Louis' trousers would definitely not fit him at all. Last week, George accidentally put on a pair of Josh's trousers and they'd discovered his thighs are about the size of Josh's calves – with Louis, George is pretty sure it'd be more like ankles.

He checks his hair and then makes a note to ask if either Harry or Louis have a beanie he can borrow at some point. His ears get cold when they don't have six coats of hairspray on them.

Danielle laughs when she sees him. "Better avoid wearing Ray-bans today."

"Why?" George asks, stumbling over as he tries to step into his shoes.

"Because you'll be mobbed with people thinking you're Harry." Danielle shakes her head. "A little possessive, are they?"

"I kind of forgot to bring clothes?" says George sheepishly, his face gone pink. "They're just being nice."

"You forgot to bring clothes," Danielle repeats. "Well, that does sum up what Liam told me about you three."

"Oh my God," George groans, covering his face. "No, it just, it happened really fast, like – lost X Factor, got on a plane. There wasn't time."

Danielle hums in equivocation. "It's none of mine. Now come on, I'm under strict orders to feed you and walk you before the show."

George grumbles a little. He's not their _pet_ , even if he does want them to keep him in a cage for a little while. And if he likes when they make him crawl to get places. And if he gets happy when they give him instructions. And he wears a collar. It's _different_.

Although a walk does sound nice. It's warmer in New York than it was in London; feels like a nice spring day even though it's December.

Well, whatever. He likes walks and he's hungry and he's allowed.

And he should get to know Danielle, anyway, and he doesn't mind being teased as long as she doesn't actually think that he's a dog, which he's pretty sure she doesn't, seeing as he's walking on his hind legs.

His only legs.

His legs.

"All ready," he says over his own thoughts, smiling at Danielle and tucking his phone into his pocket. "Where are we going?"

"Not too far, I thought," Danielle says. "We don't have our own security and I got punched in the head yesterday, so I'm not keen to be too far from the boys."

George gasps in horror. "You got _punched_ in the _head_?" he asks. "How did – _why_?"

"Because people didn't expect me to be here," Danielle says. "It's fine. I have a hard head." She winks.

George raises an eyebrow dubiously. "It's not fine."

"It's not _fine_ , but it could've been worse," Danielle agrees, "And now I have big, strong you to protect me."

George looks at his own arms. He's been working out, but he's still really noodle-armed, and his one ab won't be much help here. "Yeah," he mutters. "Big, strong me."

Danielle grins at him and ruffles his hair. "Come on; I'm famished. Tell me all about last night's show; I missed it."

"I don't remember much of it, either," admits George as they leave the room. George hasn't got a key to get in, so he'll just have to hope he has Harry or Louis with him when he comes back. "I was sort of busy feeling ill."

"I remember when the boys were voted out," Danielle says thoughtfully as they head towards the elevator. "It was the first time I'd ever seen Liam drink. And he got really, really drunk."

"And he didn't die?" George wonders. "I thought he couldn't drink until, like, recently. The whole kidney thing?" Okay, so George had a bit of a One Direction _thing_ before the X Factor. They never have to know and they never will.

Danielle laughs at that, and George thinks that she has a very nice laugh, really, it's quite musical. "He didn't die. He did puke for ages and ages, and he tried to shag a plant, but he didn't die."

"Oh, I see." It's impossible, really, for Danielle to mention plant-shagging without George picturing it. He winces. "A nice plant, I hope?"

"It was a rhododendron," Danielle assures him.

"Well, at least there's that." George hasn't got any idea which plants are the nice ones. Not cactuses. Not poison ivy, either.

They exit the hotel and immediately New York is bustling. Fortunately, it seems like the majority of One Direction's fangirls and all of the paparazzi have headed to MSG to await the actual celebrities, and are not there to snap photos of George and wonder why he's thousands of miles from the rest of Union J.

And with Liam Payne's girlfriend-thing. Actually, George was pretty sure they'd broken up, but apparently not, as she's here. It's none of his business, so he doesn't ask about it. "Er, anyway, we're out now. Back next week for the finale, so it's not like we even get a real break."

"And the tour," Danielle reminds him. She sounds gleeful, and punches him on the shoulder.

"Yeah, the tour!" George perks up. "You'll be on that, won't you?"

Danielle nods. "I'm so glad; it feels like ages since I've been with my XF crew, even though it hasn't, really. But they're all really fond of James and Rylan and... JJ, is it?"

"If it is JJ," confirms George. "He's a laugh, all the J’s are. And so's Rylan, so it's going to be amazing, obviously. I'm just glad I got as far as I did."

Danielle gives him a soft smile. "I am, too. I liked you guys, you have good energy. And that Jaymi's voice is in-cred-ible."

"It is, isn't it?" George grins. "The only reason we did get this far, if I'm honest. Thank you," he adds. "I wish we could've been better than Christopher, but."

"You are better," Danielle says. "It's just that young people go out on Saturday nights and have no money, and old people and Liverpudlians stay home and vote for him."

George giggles. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

Danielle gives his shoulder a little nudge. "It's only the truth. Another truth is that I'm very hungry; where am I feeding you?"

"Er, wherever, I haven't got a preference and I've never been here before." George shrugs. "I like coffee?"

"Alright," Danielle says. "I could go for coffee. D'you want me to see if Pezza is nearby and wants to join?"

Pezza. Pezza is Perrie, probably, Perrie Edwards, from Little Mix, girlfriend of Zayn Malik. It'll be like a gathering of One Direction – people, not girlfriends, because George isn't a girl. One Direction's People Things.

He swallows.

"Yeah, sure, if she's around. Don't want to put her out."

"Nah, she's been wanting to see you again," Danielle says, waving absently with one hand as her other scrolls through her mobile. "Says she barely got to speak to you when she was on the show."

"Yeah, there were still a lot of people there then. I think I only spoke with her for a minute. It'll be nice to get to actually talk to her." George swallows again. He hopes the words he's saying make sense.

"Alright, she's going to meet us in about ten at the place around the corner." Danielle tucks her phone back into a pocket on her bag and grins at George. "I'm sure we've all got _loads_ to talk about."

George gulps.

They end up at a coffeeshop right near a real estate brokers' office. It – the shop, not the brokerage – is full of hipsters, dark wood, and antiestablishment graffiti interspersed with Coldplay lyrics carved into the beams with blue biros. They sell coffee, Jewish pastries that George has never tried and wants _all_ of, and enormously expensive grilled cheese sandwiches with weird things in like apple slices and vegan bacon.

He doesn't end up getting anything weird, just coffee and a pastry that crumbles and melts like butter in his mouth. George sighs and relaxes with his coffee held between his hands. He's warm and caffeinating. All is well.

Perrie fits into this crowd so seamlessly, with her lavender hair and black stockings, that George doesn't realize she's joined them until she props her elbows on the tabletop and says, "So d'you use like, loads of handcuffs? Can I borrow some?"

George stammers for a moment, and nearly drops his coffee, which would've been the saddest thing ever. Even more sad than being voted off the X Factor, maybe.

"No?" he guesses. "I mean, no, we don't, not 'no, you can't,' although since we don't, you... can't?"

Perrie's eyes narrow. It's very dramatic with all of her eyeliner. "Zaynie's walked in on Harry tied up loads of times."

"Okay." His voice has gone a bit weird. He thinks he might be having a heart attack or a stroke or something. "Yeah, I'm not into that bit, though."

Danielle and Perrie both give him a look over. "Shame," they both say.

He has to cover his face. He's probably about as red as he's ever been, and this is not at all how he anticipated this meeting going. There was a lot less discussion of what he likes in bed, first of all.

"But really," Perrie continues. "Is it like _Fifty Shades of Gray_? Or that film – what's that film, Dani, we watched on the plane that time?"

" _Secretary_ ," Danielle supplies.

"No, I don't think it's like either of those." George sighs, resigned to his fate. "It's just, like. I don't know. Normal." He shrugs. It's not normal, but he doesn't know how to explain it and have it make sense. "Nice."

He shakes his head. "It's _nice_ ," he emphasizes. "It's not like, like tying up and whipping or whatever. I guess other people can if they want, but I don't."

Perrie sighs, and leans her chin into her hands. "It is nice, though? Like, what is it, if it's not that?"

George shrugs and shifts in his seat. "I don't know. Mostly normal things. Louis' just... very bossy about it."

Danielle laughs at that, nodding. "He would be, wouldn't he? Bossy about everything else, as well, that one."

George giggles. "See? No different."

Perrie sighs again. She smiles at him. "You look really happy. I know I don't, like, properly know you, but you just smile when you talk about them."

George busies himself with his coffee. "I'm just a smiley person. But they help, yeah."

"Well, good, then. I'm glad. Zayn says they talk about you all the time, you know." Perrie sits back and takes a sip of her own coffee. "They must be happy you could be here to see this."

George nods. "I think they are. It sucks 'cause it means we won't be singing together next week on the show, but. I'm glad for them."

"How are you doing, by the way?" asks Perrie, her eyebrows drawing together. She's like a faerie or something, or a pixie, all bright colors and concern. "I haven't seen the show yet but I heard the results."

"I'm alright. Won't get to share your joy and acclaim, being a group that won the X Factor, but I'm alright."

"There can only be one," she says, striking a pose. "You'll still do well, though, you were my favorite act this year. Everyone else was a bit boring or not cute."

"Ella wasn't boring, and she's cute," George protests. "And Rylan is the opposite of boring. And he's very tall."

"Well, that's true," muses Perrie. "Ella was very cute. I was shocked when she left. Everyone was, really. Rylan is _so tall_ ," she continues, her eyes gone wide. "He made me feel like a gnome or something."

"He makes everyone feel like a gnome," George reports. "Except James. They're both giants."

"You're pretty tall, too, aren't you?" Danielle squints at him. "I've got my boots on and you weren't all midget-y."

"I'm tall," George agrees. "But not a giant. Harry's closer to being a giant than I am, even though we're equally as tall."

"Yeah, Harry's got muscles and things," Perrie agrees. "He works out all the time. So does Lou, actually. Probably his way of making up for being a shortarse."

George giggles again and tries to drown it in his coffee.

"Probably why he's so bossy, as well," says Danielle with a grin. "Overcompensating."

"Napoleon Complex," George agrees. "But I quite like it. He can invade my Russia whenever he wants, or something like that."

"George!" Danielle exclaims, while Perrie just cracks up into her coffee.

"What?" George asks. "It was historically accurate."

"Yeah, just really unexpected when one mention of tying you up turned you red as a tomato," says Danielle. She laughs, shaking her head. "Full of surprises, you are."

"I'm very particular," George says haughtily. He tears into his rugelach and finds it quite delicious even though it's named like a sneeze.

"If you don't like being tied up, what do you like?" Perrie asks, looking at him expectantly. "Except don't tell me if it's spiders."

"I don't think people like spiders in a sexual way," George assures her.

She points at him accusingly. " _You don't know_. Zaynie and I looked up a really weird porn this one time. You don't _know_."

George and Danielle both ease their chairs back a little.

"It wasn't spiders on purpose!" Perrie exclaims. "It was meant to be tentacles, but we weren't specific enough about the eight legs!"

"That's not less weird!" George protests. Far be it from him to judge what sort of porn someone watches on their day off, but... ew.

"Oh, whatever." Perrie waves the thought away with an elegant hand. "What do you _do_ if it's not all fuzzy handcuffs and bullwhips and assless chaps?"

George licks his lips. It's fine, he can talk about it. Not like it's something to be ashamed of. "Mostly they tell me what to do," he says slowly. "Or when I can do it, or how."

"Doesn't everyone do that?" Danielle asks. "Like, 'faster - harder - over there?'"

"Not, not like that – well, like that, sometimes – I mean telling me what to do not just during. Sex stuff." George winces. He's really terrible at explaining this. Probably literally anyone in the world would be better at it.

"Do they have you running their errands?" Perrie sounds indignant.

"No, no!" George assures. "I mean, like, picking out what I wear, or telling me to do things if they're not around." His cheeks are heating again. "Making me float."

They both look a little puzzled at that, so George just sighs and says, "They help me feel better, like – think less."

"What do you mean?" Danielle presses. "How do you think less?"

"I just don't need to worry about anything except making them happy when I'm with them, 'cause they're... gonna make sure I'm okay," George says. "I don't have to worry about myself."

Perrie makes a sort of cooing noise, her hands clasped underneath her chin. "Ohh," she sighs. "That's amazing."

"But that's just _trust_ ," Danielle says. "That's not like, a magical kinky sex thing, is it?"

George shrugs helplessly. "Maybe it's not, then. We don't – A lot of the time it's just normal, magical sex."

Perrie's nose wrinkles. "Well, that's less fun than I'd imagined."

That makes George laugh. "Trust me, it's really, really fun."

Instead they change the topic to, well, anything else. They're only there for about twenty more minutes but George's head is awhirl with how many subjects they cover in such a short period of time: boots, Perrie's dog, what sort of jumper is best, what kind of monkey George would be if he were a real monkey, books, baking.

He's _still_ confused about boots by the time they leave, each with an arm hooked into one of George's elbows.

The coffee's made him more upbeat, though, so he can at least manage to keep up with the conversation. Both girls talk at the speed of light, so that's an accomplishment.

They're talking about, about distance, now, and it's. Hitting George harder than he'd like it to.

"Been ages since I've been able to really watch them live," says Perrie, scrolling through the messages on her phone with the hand that isn't on the arm hooked into George's. "Hard to be busy with a busy boyfriend."

Danielle leaves a small, but significant, silence before she says, "You're telling _me_ about difficult?"

Sighing heavily, Perrie swings her arm with George's. "I know, I _know_. Let me be grumpy for a moment."

George is very quiet until Perrie pokes him right in the cheek. "Stop being mopey, Shellers."

"That's a new one, don't think I've heard that before," says George. He's still frowning. He doesn't want to think about this, but... Well, they're the ones who brought it up. "So it's really hard, then?"

"It can be," Danielle says. "Sometimes." She sounds a little guilty and a little sheepish. "Sometimes it's too much."

George tells himself, very firmly, that it is absolutely none of his business. "Yeah." He bites his lip for a moment. "Is it, like. I don't... I've never..."

He sighs. "I usually get bored before it'd be an issue. I don't think I'm gonna get bored with them."

"I'd imagine they're hard to get bored of," Danielle agrees. "So then you've really only got the one option. Stick it out."

George looks at her, then down at Perrie. "How?"

When Perrie smiles back at him, it's as serious as he's seen her so far. "I believe you're stronger than you think you are," she says softly. "All you have to do is, is know they'll come home to you. Whatever else, that's what matters." 

George looks at his feet. "They have each other, though. I'm the only one alone."

Bizarrely, they make the same cooing motherly sound at him. "You're not alone," Danielle says firmly. "I know it'll be hard, but you have to remember that they won't be on tour forever. Even if it feels like it."

George gives a little tentative nod, and Danielle nudges his shoulder with hers. "And _you'll_ be on tour for a fair bit of it, too! With me, at first, at least!"

That does prod a smile from him. "Yeah, that'll be amazing. Never been on _tour_ before."

"It's loads of fun," Danielle assures him.

"And it'll keep you busy," Perrie adds. "That's another thing you can do. It's good to have a distraction."

George laughs at that. "For the last four months, _they've been_ my distraction!"

"And now you'll need a new one." Perrie gives him a wicked little grin. "Maybe two. Or three. However many distractions you need, love."

George goes red to the tips of his ears. "Har har."

"I know, I'm very witty." Perrie whistles a little tune to herself. "All I'm saying is that you're very cute and if you really don't want to be alone – you might not have to be. I don't know how that whole business works."

" _You're_ cute," George points out. "Do _you_ just want someone else to pass the time?"

"Are you offering?" Perrie raises her eyebrows.

George thinks his eyes might pop out of his head.

Perrie giggles and pats his head. "I was joking. Unless you _were_ offering, in which case I was definitely not joking."

I – I – I mean, you're _lovely_ , but I – don't..." George shrugs. "I'm theirs."

"Hm. Pity." Perrie laughs again, jangly and loud. "Only having a laugh. You're a bit..." She waves a hand aimlessly. "Pretty."

George gives her a dimpled grin. "Thank you."

"You're very welcome, George." Perrie grins back, and pops up onto her toes to kiss him on the cheek. "Now, where are we going?"

They whirl around Manhattan for another few hours, popping into shops and, when they pass it, they peruse the Museum and Sex and both Perrie and Danielle fill their purses with free condoms.

"You never know when you'll need one at a moment's notice," says Perrie solemnly, tucking one into the pocket of her jeans and grinning at George. "Best to be prepared."

George grins. "I don't need to worry about that anymore. I don't envy you."

"Stupid boys," grumbles Perrie, but he can tell she's not serious. He likes Perrie, likes that she's bubbly and candid and he even likes that she talks about Zayn so much, because it's nice to see that it _is_ possible to date someone in One Direction.

Of course, she can talk about it in interviews and it just comes across as adorable and a little scatterbrained. George would probably start getting fingers in the post along with all the hair.

He shudders at the thought. He hopes he never ever gets a finger (or any other limb) in the post.

Danielle did get punched in the head over Liam, though. He supposes it's all a matter of luck and timing.

There's really a lot of doubt that it'll ever be at all public what he's been doing with Harry and Louis, and to be honest, that's fine with him. Maybe he does want to be publicly theirs but he doesn't think he wants to be theirs, publicly.

He nods a little to himself, proud to have worked it out in his head.

"Where are we off to now?" he asks Danielle, instead of answering when she gives him a funny look.

"Is there anywhere you'd like to go?" she asks, checking her phone. "We've still got a bit of time left before we should head back."

"Could use a top-up on coffee," George suggests. "But otherwise, I'm pretty content."

"Of course you could use a top-up on coffee. Starting to think you'll marry coffee one day." Danielle ruffles his hair, which is a bit, well, he's not _that_ much younger than her.

"If it were legal to marry a beverage, I would," George agrees.

"Quite young to be getting married," mumbles Perrie absently, shuffling through her bag. "Probably haven't even asked coffee's parents yet."

"Who are coffee's parents?" George asks curiously.

Perrie frowns and looks up. "I don't know, I hadn't thought it through enough. I've ruined it."

George pats her shoulder. "That's alright. I don't care who coffee is, as long as it loves me."

"Such a boy band member," Danielle sniffs.

"Is that a boy band thing, liking coffee?" George asks, confused. "I didn't know."

"Backstreet Boys lyrics, dope." Danielle ruffles his hair none too gently. "Thanks for making me feel _old_ , all the same."

"Oh. It's a Justin Bieber song, too, I think." George sings a few bars. "Justin Bieber's much different from the Backstreet Boys. I think."

"It would be," Perrie says. "Wanker. When Zaynie and I partied with him, he insisted in hiding in a shrub and then calling the paps on himself to make it look like they'd chased him into a shrub. Who does that? Wankers, that's who."

"Maybe he was pretending to be a chipmunk," suggests George.

"Most popstars don't pretend to be animals, love." Perrie breaks the news gently.

George fakes a gasp, but he inhales too hard and it turns into a cough, of course, because his life is a television show.

Danielle thumps him on the back and then massages his shoulders because she is absolutely lovely.

"Sorry!" exclaims Perrie. "Didn't mean to kill you with my wit, love. I'll have to be more careful about how hilarious I am."

Of course, that just makes George giggle.

They have a nice afternoon, although it does get steadily colder to the point that George has to pop into an H&M to buy a jacket, until it's time to head to Madison Square Garden and beat the crowd.

"There are going to be so many people here," mumbles George. He's practically clinging to Perrie's coat, because she's nearest to him and he doesn't want to somehow lose her and Danielle and then be trampled to death underneath One Direction fans.

He feels like that would turn out really, really poorly for him.

"Yeah." Danielle sounds a little overwhelmed as well, looking around the massive interior of the building. "Yeah, this is. Mental, it's mental. When I met Liam, he could barely say two words to me, and now he's sold out Madison Square Garden."

George gives her a smile and cuddles his chin over the top of her shoulder, because it's sweet how long she and Liam have known each other and because if this is overwhelming for him, he can't imagine how it must be for her.

Danielle gives his head a pat and smiles back at him. He's had a really lovely time with her, with both of them, and it'll be amazing when she's on tour with them.

They'll have a lot of fun, he suspects. And she'll get on beautifully with Ella.

"Come on," Perrie urges. "If we rush we can probably catch the end of their rehearsal."

It might sound incongruous, but: George _loves_ watching One Direction sing. They're why he wanted to be put into a boy band. They're why he has the career he has now, because even though he was eliminated from the show last night, his band is keeping him.

He knows they're not One Direction, and they've been doing their best to try to get people not to compare them (even if they still insist on curling George's hair) but it's not like George doesn't know One Direction are the reason they got as far as they did. Boy bands were all but dead by the time One Direction came around. Without them, George would've faded into obscurity.

And maybe he will, still, but at least he's had a chance now.

He stands in the wings, where it's dark, with Perrie and Danielle and they're all silent as they watch. Danielle's probably seen this show two hundred times, and Perrie nearly as many, but it's still exciting. The sheer size of the stage and how excited the boys are – it's magic.

They flow really well together. It's easy to see why people like this band so much – when it's so clear how well they work together. They're not just going through the motions. They play around with each other and run after each other and switch up lyrics and laugh in the middle of songs. It's an amazing thing to see.

Once they finish their rehearsal, all four of the five of them end up piling into the wings where Danielle, George, and Perrie are waiting, but –

"Where's Harry?" Zayn asks, folded all around Perrie.

Louis looks around, then sighs heavily and rolls his eyes.

"Wrong way, Harold!" he yells, and there's a faint clatter from the other side of the stage.

"Right! I'm coming!"

George has to practically shove his fist into his mouth to keep from laughing too loudly, biting his knuckles hard. Still, a tiny snort escapes.

Harry appears, pink-faced and a little bedraggled, and Louis swats his bum.

"That's twice today," he chastises. Louis is pink-cheeked and slightly sweaty from being under the bright lights and George wants to eat him. "To the left, you know that, go to the _left_."

"I know, I know," Harry whines. "I forgot which way was left on a stage. I'll remember later." Then he brightens. "Look, it's a George!"

"Hello," George manages before Harry's practically tackling him. He might've tripped, for all George knows. He can't see anything with Harry's entire body engulfing him.

"Mmmm, missed you," Harry rumbles. "How did you sleep? Are you still sad?"

"Sleep was amazing," George answers. He presses his face into Harry's collar, sighing happily. "Loads better. Less sad."

"Good," Harry praises, and he nuzzles the side of George's neck. "And you smell like they've got you coffee; good. I did say they should get you coffee."

"I did have coffee," George confirms. "I like coffee. Like you more," he adds, which is a compliment of the highest caliber. He doesn't like a lot of things more than coffee.

Harry beams like he knows it. "Love you."

George goes a bit melty on the inside, and he can't help the soft laugh the comes out of his mouth. He's just _happy_. "Love you," he returns.

He's very aware of being watched, though, and not just by Louis.

There haven't ever been this many people around, when he's been with Harry and Louis before. His band, yeah, but that's only three other people, and this is Harry and Louis – and Liam, and Zayn, and Niall, and Danielle, and Perrie, and it's. A lot.

And it's – well, his band live with him, so they know George. They know what things are like between him and Harry and Louis, at least a bit. (Jaymi maybe more than the other two.) But he doesn't know what, or how much, the One Direction lads know, or what they think of him.

He doesn't know the rules, he doesn't know what he's allowed to say or do or think around them, and while Harry and Louis are Harry and Louis, the others are still very much Boys From One Direction. And it's a little frightening.

And, well. Harry and Louis _are_ Harry and Louis. He's George.

He knows where they stand together when it's the three of them, because they love him and he loves them and that's all well and good, but Harry And Louis are practically an institution. 

Also, Niall is blatantly staring.

George doesn't know what to do about that (if he can even do anything about that) so he just tucks his face back against Harry's shoulder. He can still feel the eyes, but he can't see them, so it's easier.

"Guys," Louis says, "Stop glaring at George. And Niall, close your mouth, you'll catch flies."

"Why isn't he wearing a collar?" Niall just asks. "You said he did."

George might – make a weird noise. Louis, though, George can practically hear Louis roll his eyes.

"That'd be practical, wouldn't it, when he's on television _always_ , to put it around his bloody neck?"

"So what then?" Niall presses. "Is it like a cock collar on his willy? They make those?"

George feels like he's about to explode, a little. Harry kisses his head and then gently lifts his wrist, sliding his thumb underneath the row of beads. "There, nosy," he says fondly. "If you must know."

"That's a _bracelet_ ," Niall says. "I was expecting something way better."

"It's my collar and I like it." George doesn't even realize he's spoken until after the fact.

Niall blinks at him twice before nodding as he unscrews the top of a water bottle. "I guess that's what counts."

And then he just drops the whole thing. Like the conversation never even happened. _What is a Niall Horan_? wonders George to himself.

Suddenly, the conversation turns to FIFA, and not at all what Harry and Louis do with George's bum.

It's not the same way George converses with his own band, but then again – they're not One Direction.

They probably don't need to do as much 'getting-to-know-you' type talk or going over vocal parts, anyway, since they've basically spent every day together for years now.

Still, even though nobody's really focusing on him anymore, he's nervous. This is not anything he's ever had to do before, so he mainly sort of. Hides. Behind Louis. Which is stupid because Louis is a lot shorter than he is.

Really, he should have chosen to hide behind Harry. But that's a bit difficult, seeing as Harry is sprawled out over an entire sofa, barring anyone else from sitting on it.

Which is really rude of him. Very rude. Even if George can't hide behind Harry, he can still be touching him somehow, and that might help just as much. He takes a breath, and then makes his way to Harry's couch, promptly sitting on his feet.

Harry grins at him. "Hello, sweetheart. Comfy?"

"Very." George smiles back. "You make a lovely chair. Chair-y Styles."

Harry beams at him and holds out his arms. "Come get a hug. You're gonna make my feet all wibbly."

George relaxes before he's even in Harry's arms. He squirms around until he's not got any elbows or knees in important places and sighs happily, tucking his face against Harry's neck. "You smell horrendous," he mumbles, pressing closer. 

"Thank you," Harry says drolly. He pats George's back. "That's so kind."

"At least you'll always be pretty." George laughs, propping his chin on Harry's chest. "Maybe not that horrendous," he admits. "Only a little like a rubbish bin."

Harry growls at him and rolls them over so he's squashing George down into the couch. It's a very nice couch, which he supposes he should have expected since it's in the greenroom of Madison Square Garden, but he does regret a bit that this is how he's going to die: smothered in a couch.

"I can't breathe," he groans, or at least tries to. It comes out a little muffled, because he's dying.

"Sure you can," Harry says calmly. "If you can smell, you can breathe."

"I can't breathe toxic fumes," George replies.

"How very dare you!" Louis sits on Harry's back, and George gurgles desperately as the sofa takes another bite of him.

"My spine's going to break!" he yelps, trying to wriggle free.

"Your relationship's weird," Zayn says from the other sofa. Perrie is lounging across his lap.

"I don't think it is, you know," muses Louis. He bounces a little and George shrieks. "We're just three normal lads. Sitting on a couch."

"Dying," George corrects. "Dying in a couch."

"Yeah, death's not usually part of it," Zayn agrees. "Or I've missed something in the handbook."

Whatever, tentacleporn," Louis says. "We don't make George dress up as a French maid, either."

"Er, 'make'?" Perrie asks. "I offered? _And_ I cleaned your flat!"

George coughs. "Actually having a little trouble breathing," he squeaks. "I think I've got seconds left before I die."

"Louis, get off me," Harry says. "We just got George back and the tickets were expensive; we should keep him at least a night."

"But Georgie was right, you're a very comfortable chair, young Harold." Louis bounces again. "I have needs."

George huffs a little and squeaks, "Yellow, like seriously?"

"Oh, alright." Louis is off of Harry and yanking Harry up so fast that George actually gasps with how suddenly easy it is to take in air again.

He pants and crawls into a normally seated position in the corner of the squashy sofa.

"Sorry, love," says Louis settling next to him and rubbing his back. "Too far. Bit riled, didn't mean to hurt you."

"S'OK," George murmurs, because it is – they were just playing, really, and it's not Louis' fault that Harry's enormous – and snuggles into Louis' neck.

Louis laughs softly, his hand curling into the back of George's hair. "Missed you," he murmurs. "Did you have a nice time with the girls?"

George nods, but noses against the side of Louis' jaw. "Wanna have a good time with you, later."

Louis' hand slides down George's back, slowly, until it's resting on his hip. "I can't wait, darling," he replies, tipping his head down to look at George.

George smiles, and Louis' face tips down to kiss George's lips.

"That's just bizarre," Niall says. "Seeing you kiss someone who aren't Harry. Only he looks like Harry, which makes it weirder."

"You don't have to watch," says Louis, his fingers gentle on the side of George's neck. "And he really doesn't look all that much like Harry. Not with his hair like this."

George grins. "Not really anyway. I don't have _any_ tattoos."

"Harry's got four hundred." Louis smiles at George, and kisses him again. "Might've had another one done today, actually, he does tend to wander off and come back with something else permanently etched into him.

"Does he just fall sometimes and get up with new scribbles?"

" _Hey_ ," Harry whines. "These are all pieces of art."

"Of course they are." Louis grabs Harry's arm and pulls it across his lap, poking at the tattoos on it. "Nope, none of these are new. Slacking, Harry."

Harry frowns. "Well, I'll have to get one while we're here, then, won't I?"

"Dare you," sings Louis, leaning against George's shoulder. He raises his eyebrows at Harry.

"You don't have to dare me," Harry says. "I'll just do it. George can come along."

"Yeah, that'll be good," agrees Louis. "We'll do that while you're still here, long as you don't mind watching Harry get – I don't know, a cat or something on his arm."

George beams and shakes his head. He doesn't mind at all. He'd enjoy watching Harry get a ladybug on his bumcheek, for all he cares, he just wants to be around them.

"Good boy," Louis murmurs, his hand running up and down George's side. His eyes are a little brighter than George remembers them being, and he hopes it's because Louis is happy to have George here just like George is happy to be here.

George nestles his face into Louis' shoulder. The eyes of the other One Direction boys are still keenly on him, but he minds less, now.

"How are you doing?" asks Louis, low in George's ear. "Missed you today."

"I'm alright," George says. "Still upset, I guess, 'cause it's depressing, but I'm alright."

"Anything we can do to help make it better?" Louis is warm like a furnace and George sighs, curling closer.

He grins a little coquettishly under his fringe. "Not that you can do here."

"The cheek!" Louis bites George's ear. "You'd be surprised what I can do here, babe."

"If it's all the same," Zayn pipes in, " _I'd_ rather you not? It's bad enough when you forget to lock doors."

"Who says I forget?" Louis shoots back.

Zayn rolls his eyes. "Fine, you ' _forget_ '," he says, using finger quotes and everything. "Doesn't change the fact that I can never get my innocence back."

"You never had any," Louis sniffs. "You're much worse than me and Harry. And George," he adds belatedly.

"Nobody's worse than you." Zayn points an accusing finger at him. " _Nobody_."

"I've never tried to look up sexual spiders," George says, his eyes flicking tentatively to Perrie.

That makes Zayn groan and drop his head back. "D'you just tell everyone that story when you meet them?" he asks Perrie. "Changed my mind. _You're_ the worst."

"It's worth telling!" Perrie kisses his ear. "But it is why I wouldn't be Black Widow for Halloween."

"You could've been Spiderman," George ventures. "Woman. Spiderwoman."

"I refuse," Perrie says. "Partially because I don't want to rip Zaynie's head off after mating with him. Then I couldn't mate with him again. Well, I could. But I wouldn't."

"That's very sweet of you, thanks." Zayn smiles at her, and it's just, it's really cute. Even if Zayn's trying for wry he only manages fond and George is terribly endeared by them.

"You're all soppy," Niall declares. "I don't need a one of ya. I've my guitar and that's all I need in this world. Although it can't blow me, as the strings hurt fierce."

"You could take the strings off," suggests George, because his mouth isn't connected to his brain at all.

Niall just points at him. "I could do. But tuning's a pisser."

"Oh, good point." George is sure that's not the only disadvantage of fucking a guitar, but it's hard to think of any others. "Never mind, then."

Niall still looks a little abashed, but pulls out his guitar from its case behind the armchair and cuddles it much like George cuddles his own.

His fingers are itching to play. It feels like it's been forever even though it's only been about a day and a half since he's had his guitar.

"Niall, give George your guitar," Louis says. "He's drooling."

"What?" asks George. He checks and he's so _not_ drooling, and he's not going to just – take Niall's guitar from him, that'd be beyond rude.

"Niall, your other one," Louis says. "You always make Harry carry it; least you could do is let someone play it."

Niall sighs heavily but retrieves his other guitar amiably enough, offering it to George. "Don't know if it's in tune. Probably isn't. Sorry, mate."

"That's alright," George says, amazed and grateful. "I don't mind."

"You play on the show, right?" Niall asks him, settling back down in his seat. "They didn't let me play when we were on the show."

"Yeah, just something to make us seem different from... well, you," George says. "No offense."

"None taken." Indeed, Niall barely blinks. George doesn't get the impression he's offended by much. "Would've thought it'd be obvious enough with just the four of ya."

George giggles. "You'd think, but apparently people are bad at counting."

He strums absently, and the guitar is frightfully out of tune. He busies himself fiddling with it, because this is something he can do, and focusing on that means he's not focusing on trying to impress One Direction. Not even impress. Just not embarrass himself.

Louis' hand is making a constant, light circuit up and down George's back, though, and that's something he can focus on.

When he tries another chord, it's much better, and that relaxes him as well. This is something he knows how to do.

Harry hooks his chin over George's shoulder to watch him play.

He switches for a few seconds into What Makes You Beautiful before he moves into Love Story, because it's still a little bit stuck in his head from performing it before they left. He's so proud of Jaymi. He's so proud of all of them.

Harry tweaks George's hair and kisses the side of his neck as he plays, and it makes George shiver all the way to the base of his spine.

"Any requests?" he asks, tilting his head toward Harry. "If I don't know it I can probably work it out."

Across from them, Niall butts in with, "Can y'do 'Teenage Dirtbag'? We can brush up for tonight if you do."

"Yeah, no problem." George fits his fingers to the fret and checks the tuning one more time before he starts into the song.

George has spent every day of the last four months – all _day_ every day, even – with amazing singers. But he's still knocked back for six by One Direction.

They don't even count in or anything, they just all jump in at their parts and harmonize like, like their voices are supposed to be together. Liam, as far as George can tell, hasn't been paying attention at all, but he still slides right in behind Harry's voice with a falsetto at one point.

He wants to be able to do that. He knows that it's probably going to happen, it's just a matter of rehearsal time, but it seems more like they're supernatural somehow, it's that effortless.

Harry leans his head on George's shoulder whenever he's not singing, humming along behind the sound of the guitar. The song's over much too quickly and George finds himself wishing it was longer. This is what One Direction does, he thinks. They suck you in and suck you in until you don't want to be sucked out anymore.

He giggles at himself for the image in his head, because in his case, yes. That is _exactly_ what One Direction do.

Probably not how they're so in sync with each other. Probably.

He doesn't think they're going to have any issues at the concert, but he understands being nervous anyway. It's not something you can just turn off, being nervous before a big show. George can't turn it off, anyway.

He turns to kiss Harry's cheek after they've finished singing. "You're brilliant. Honestly brilliant."

Harry looks extraordinarily pleased, which, he's in One Direction. He doesn't need George to tell him he's brilliant.

But then again, people wouldn't think George would need Louis and Harry to tell him that _he's_ brilliant, either. And he does. So he won't not tell Harry that he's wonderful and lovely and perfect if he needs.

"Thank you," murmurs Harry, and then he tilts George's head to kiss him firmly.

"See, that's weird!" Niall whines.

George doesn't see what Harry does, but whatever it is makes Louis snicker and then Harry deepens the kiss.

Niall gives a strangled groan and then there's a lot of scuffling noise as, probably, he gets up to leave.

"Okay, okay," laughs Harry, kissing George one more time before he just settles his head on his shoulder again. "I finished."

"Doesn't matter; I'm still leaving," Niall says. "I don't know whether I'm more disappointed I had to see you snog or that the snogging was totally normal. But maybe too much tongue."

"You've seen me snog loads of times!" Harry protests. "At least a billion times in the last two years."

"Yeah, but I thought it'd be more exciting with George," Niall says. "Like that suit from Pulp Fiction or something."

"I can show you exciting snogging if you want," Louis replies, with his hand settled low on George's back. "But I don't know if you're old enough to see it yet."

"That's alright," Niall says at the same time George reminds Louis, "I don't like when you get my willy out in public."

Louis sighs heavily. "I know," he responds to George first. "I was just teasing."

To Niall, he says, "Definitely not teasing, and if you don't all get out in the next three seconds, there'll be unclothed willies everywhere."

He seems slightly perturbed when that doesn't incite a mass panic.

" _We are used to Harry_ ," Zayn reminds him. "That's not even a threat anymore. It's just a certainty."

"I thought it might work better with a cock you'd never seen before," grumbles Louis. "Damn it, Harry, you're always ruining my plans."

"Sorry," Harry says, not sounding sorry at all – and promptly takes his jeans off to flop back down onto the sofa in his pants.

George makes a quietly approving noise. He does like it when he can see Harry's thighs.

Louis' hand pauses low on George's back. 

"Guys," he says thoughtfully, "And Perrie and Danielle – how much would you mind all being very hungry and going to Craft Services for about forty-five minutes?"

"I was going there anyway," says Niall, but he looks very suspicious, like he'd rather not now just because Louis suggested it. "Why?"

"Because George doesn't like when I get his dick out in public."

"Going!" Liam says loudly. It's the first thing George has heard him say, actually.

"Hi, Liam," he pipes politely. "Bye, Liam."

"Bye, George." Liam is already standing, heading toward the door with Danielle at his side. "Sorry about last night, I was pulling for you. See you later."

Zayn lets Perrie heave him off the opposite sofa.

"I was comfortable." He gives Louis a dark look, but is very quickly distracted by Perrie tugging him along out the door, chattering about citrus fruit.

And then they're alone.

Finally.

They're alone, together.

"Is this still too public?" asks Louis, his hands urging George's shoulders down until he's half lying in Harry's lap. "Because I really want to get your dick out now."

George glances at the door. "No paparazzi are going to burst through and ruin everyone's lives, are they?"

"Nope. They know to lock the door after them." Louis leans down and kisses George's neck, his lips lingering there until George shivers.

Harry presses up against George's back, his lips touching to the knobble at the top of George's spine.

"Okay," George sighs. He thinks at this point he'd probably let Louis get his dick out in the middle of Times Square. He's dying for it a little.

Louis kisses his way up to George's cheek and just lightly brushes his lips against the thin skin beneath George's eye, just above his sharp cheekbone.

George blinks, and lifts his head because Louis' lips are right there and he'd be a fool not to kiss him right now.

Harry's hands slide around to George's front, stroking up beneath George's shirt to pet at his belly.

Louis nudges his lips underneath George's chin and begins to leave him what feels like it's going to be a really stellar lovebite, stinging and dark. He bites his lip, because it feels so _good_ and George has missed this so much.

"Try to stay up, sweetheart," Harry murmurs in his ear, "Just for a few more hours, alright? But let us take care of you."

George takes a deep breath. Up up up. He wants to be under, wants to just let himself drop but he knows he can't. Not yet.

"Promise tonight?" he murmurs. "All of it, everything?"

"Cross my heart." Louis trails his tongue up the underside of George's jaw and then looks him in the eye. "Everything. Promise."

George whimpers softly and shifts his hips. Beneath his shirt, Harry's thumbs are circling his nipples.

"Right now I want to suck you off." Louis tucks his fingers into George's trousers, just behind the button. "And make you come, and hear your sounds. Because I've missed your sounds."

George nods, a bit breathless, like they've knocked the wind out of him.

"Good," Louis whispers, keeping eye contact with George as he slides himself down the cushions, until he can kiss George's stomach above the waist of his jeans. Harry's jeans. The jeans he's wearing. "Shirt off."

George lifts his arms obediently so Harry can pull the shirt over his head; there's a pause, and then when Harry wraps his arms around George's body again, George's back presses up against only Harry's skin, too.

That's good, that's really good. George likes touching as much of their skin as possible. He presses back against Harry as Louis gets his trousers down, not all the way but far enough that George can spread his thighs a little.

Louis kisses the inside of George's thigh and George feels tender golden furls start curling in around the edges of his mind. He presses his hands over his eyes and focuses on breathing, not on _LouisHarrygoodherewanted_.

Harry's fingers dig into his ribs and that helps a little, because it doesn't hurt enough to be, to be something else, but it hurts enough that George can focus on it.

"Hang on, Georgie," Harry croons in his ear. "Why don't you talk to me while Louis makes you feel good, hmm? Tell me something nice."

"You're nice," is the first thing George can think of. "You're really, really nice. Louis is nice. And Perrie, and Dani."

"Well, thank you," Harry laughs softly. "Tell me something better. Tell me everything you want while we're here together."

"To float," says George. That's what he wants most. It's hard to think about anything else when that's what he wants so badly and he's been good for so long.

"I know, love," Harry murmurs. "Soon. What did you do while we were away?"

"Missed you." George takes a deep breath. He can go under later. He doesn't need to right now. He can go under later. "Got coffee. And food."

"Glad to hear that," Harry praises. He noses at George's cheek. "Kiss me."

That's easier. That's – he can think less, kissing Harry. He doesn't have to try to think and ignore the way Louis' hand is stroking slowly up and down over his cock.

And Harry's an excellent kisser. Top notch. It's simple to fall into it, be distracted by that.

At least until Louis' thumb runs around the rim of George's cock, peels the foreskin gently down enough that his lips can touch where it's most sensitive.

George groans, and has to stop kissing Harry to let his head drop back. It's been far too long since a mouth's been on his cock and Louis has always been better at this than most.

Louis' hands are on George's thighs, blunt nails and fingertips pushing into his skin to leave little Louis-shaped bruises.

George knows already he isn't going to last very long, not if he isn't under and when he's been dying for it all week. He can try, though, if nothing else, because he always tries for Louis.

"That looks amazing," Harry murmurs, voice a low rasp. "When he's finished you, can I fuck your mouth?"

George shudders. He'd like that more than just about anything. He wants to feel the burn in his lips for hours, wants his voice to go raspy and low. "Yes, please," he murmurs.

"Yeah?" Harry bites the join of George's neck and shoulder. "You don't have to sing tomorrow, do you. You don't have to talk all day if you don't want."

George sucks in air through his teeth at the thought. "Not if you don't want me to," he agrees. "I could – just not talk, all day."

Harry tips George's head back to rest against Harry's shoulder and then gently, gently runs the tip of one index finger up the length of George's throat. "I think it'd be a nice present for you doing so well. Don't you?"

"Yeah," whispers George. "Yeah, really nice present. Please," he adds.

Harry's hand leaves George's skin and George watches it reach down to rest on the back of Louis' head where he's still diligently working over George's cock. Harry pets Louis' hair softly and George moans, low in his throat, because everything they do is so beautiful together.

Louis' lips are red and wet on George's dick, his tongue slipping out pink and wicked to trace patterns over the sensitive head. His eyes are closed at first but open to twinkle up at George.

He slurps off and sucks a little kiss to the slit. When he pulls back again, a wet thread of precome follows him, and he licks it away. "Good, George?"

"So good," George responds, panting slightly. "So, really, really excellent."

Louis smiles at him and licks a long stripe up the shaft. "Can you come for me now?"

George squeezes his eyes shut. He can, he can, he _can_ , because Louis wants him to and George is so good at doing what Louis wants.

George pants a few times, whimpering, trying just to feel Harry's lips on his neck and Louis' warm breath puffing over his cock and the promise of Harry fucking his throat so hard he can't speak tomorrow, but it's – he needs –

His hand slides up into Harry's hair and he grinds out, " _Bite_ me," because it's the only thing he can think, he just needs that, the mark, the possession of it all.

"Alright, sweetheart," Harry murmurs, and it might be that or it might be the sudden bright sting of _teeth_ , but George groans low and comes all over Louis' face.

Louis laughs softly, and wraps his lips around George's cock to clean him up a little. "Rude," he murmurs, sweeping a knuckle under his eye and offering it up to Harry.

George tightens his fingers on Louis' shoulder because he's so sensitive right now and he's just come and he's _overcome_ and if Louis doesn't get his mouth away right quick, he might go under without even being asked.

It's fine, it's fine, Louis kisses his hip and then leans back, swiping his wrist over his face to make himself more presentable.

He coughs twice delicately and clears his throat. "Sound alright?"

"Yeah, you're good," Harry says. George doesn't think he can make words, mostly because he just had a mind-blowing orgasm but also because it didn't even occur to him that maybe Louis should keep dicks out of his mouth on tonight of all nights.

"Are you – you didn't have to – "

"I know I didn't," Louis says. His voice is bossy again, which George takes to mean that he's fine. "I just really, really wanted to."

"Thank you," says George. That's all he can really say, if Louis' sure he didn't mind.

Louis kneels up again and kisses George's mouth. He tastes familiar and it makes George sigh against his lips.

"You're welcome, love. I think I heard something about you paying the same forward to Harry?"

"Yes, please," murmurs George, licking his lips. He's really looking forward to this. He's missed having Harry in his mouth.

Harry kisses the side of George's head. "Sofa looks a good height."

Harry kisses the side of George's head. "Sofa looks a good height."

"Hmm?" hums George, tilting his head up so he can kiss underneath Harry's jaw. He's not really up to deciphering words unless those words are 'here's my dick, have at it.'

Harry smiles at the tickling of George's little kisses, and then gives Louis a meaningful look.

"Come here half a mo'," Louis murmurs, tugging George up so that Harry can slide out from beneath him. He distracts George with kisses; lingering, deep kisses that make George feel like he might melt.

He hears a _shush_ as Harry's belt thwips out of its loops and a soft sound as his pants hit the floor. 

George attempts to wriggle off the couch to kneel, but Louis holds his shoulders.

"I like you here," he says, and then he maneuvers George's limbs the way he obviously wants them. George lets him, of course, because he wants to be where Louis wants him to be.

It's a bit weird – his head's hanging off the edge of the sofa a bit, and things look funny from this angle, but if it's what Louis wants.

"So pretty," Louis murmurs. He bends forward to suck a kiss over George's adam's apple. "Lovely long, straight throat."

_Oh_.

Louis is right, of course. From here, when George tips his head back a little, his throat stretches out straight enough that Harry could actually _fuck_ his mouth, for real.

It makes his heart speed up in his chest, pounding prickles into his skin all the way to his fingertips.

He's going to be with them for nearly a week. A whole week, if they fly back together; maybe even a bit longer. He doesn't have to sing. They don't have to hold back with him anymore, any of it.

"Please," he manages, dry in his throat. "Please, I want to."

Harry looks enormously tall from this angle. He reaches down at touches George's lips with the tips of two fingers; George opens and licks out at them needily.

It's a tall couch, George had noticed that when he'd first plopped down on it. Right now he's grateful for that. He parts his lips, licks them, and looks up at Harry hopefully.

There's no more pretense after that.

Harry spreads his legs a little and grips himself, guiding the head of his cock into George's mouth. He doesn't start off fast, but it's certainly not slow. He's not giving any quarter, hips moving at a steady pace.

George doesn't know what to do with his hands, so he just reaches out until one of them finds Louis, clasps onto Louis' fingers for a squeeze.

Louis' other hand is on his belly, keeping him where he is, probably. George's neck is already starting to hurt but this is amazing and he doesn't care. He breathes through his nose as best he can and uses his tongue to flick against the head of Harry's cock when he next retracts his hips.

"Good, George," Harry huffs, and his thighs spread a little more and he bites his lip, the head of his cock already teasing at the back of George's throat, opening it up in broad strokes. George's other hand comes up over his head to rest on Harry's waist because he likes the way it feels when Harry's muscles move.

Already, this feels like more than George has ever taken, even though he logically knows he's taken all of Harry before. Not like this, not when his throat is so open and Harry's slowly fucking into his mouth, controlling the rhythm of it.

The pale gold wisps are touching the edges of George's consciousness again, and this time, there's nothing he can do to keep them away. All he can do is cling to Louis' hand.

His lips are slick with spit and rubbed raw already, and he wants more, so much more. He wants to not even be able to talk tomorrow if he was allowed to, and he wants to walk out of this room and have everyone know what he's been doing, and he wants to make Harry speechless.

Harry's breath is coming in little gasps and groans, dotted with praise, and he's close enough – deep enough – now that he has to brace his hands on the back of the sofa.

That pushes him deeper, and George feels it now, the stretch, the burn, the _good good yes good please_ of it all. He closes his eyes and shivers, because the gold is edging in and he doesn't, he can't stop it.

"It's alright, love," Louis whispers. "I know it's a lot."

George seizes onto that, it's alright, it's alright, he's alright, is it alright, can he float? He wants to, so much, and he knows he shouldn't but everything is all so much and he _wants_ to.

Louis squeezes his hand. "It's _okay_ , George, you're alright."

George lets go. He floats, and floats, and floats, into gold clouds where he can just _be_ and he can let Harry and Louis take care of him, and he can relax his throat and his shoulders and everything because it's alright. He's alright.

Harry gasps over him and mutters something about _look so good like that_ and then George is choking, a bit, enough to make his eyes red and watery but not enough that he wants Harry to stop (ever).

It hurts, and he can tell that his throat is _wrecked_ , and he loves it. He loves how it feels and the taste of Harry's cock and how his vision's gone blurry with tears and he loves that Louis still has a solid grip on his hand, warm and sure and wonderful.

His own cock is starting to fatten up again but he doesn't try to touch and he knows Louis and Harry won't, either, not until after the show. Not until they choose, really. They could spend the whole week together and never get _him_ off again, never let him come, just let him make them come over and over and over.

He thinks he might want that. And he can have it, too, if he asks for it.

Everything George thinks has a gold sheen to it that makes him so happy to see and to feel again. He missed this. He loves this.

He wants _more_ this week. He wants to go under so deep that all he can think is soft white-gold and Louis and Harry.

Harry's breathing hard, now, in quick short pants and his rhythm's gone unsteady and his hands are curled into the soft plush of the couch. George can tell he's close. He wants to make Harry come.

He's been fairly still, just letting Harry _take_ , but he strokes Harry's hip with the sides of his fingers and he hums and sucks a little, trying to hollow out his cheeks in the moments between thrusts, and it's hard to breathe with how Harry's belly is pressing up against his mouth and nose but it's so, so good.

" _Ah-ah-fuck_ ," stutters Harry, and then he's coming down George's throat, hot and deep and it's everything George wanted.

He's spluttering with it.

When Harry finally pulls out of his mouth, there's come on George's lips and his chin and a bit on his neck and some running down his cheeks, and it's just, it's everywhere.

He sucks in a breath so fast that he chokes on that, too, throat burning.

He has to cough for a moment, and then Louis is helping him up, slowly, until he's upright on the couch.

Louis wraps George up in his arms. "You okay?"

George gurgles for a moment and then swallows hard, licking his lips. That hurts, too, stings and aches and it's perfect. "Yes," he says. He was expecting it, but the sound of his ragged, barely there voice is still startling.

His voice is quite deep usually, but it's four-pack-a-day deep now, with a sharp rasp like sandpaper. It doesn't hurt as badly as he'd thought, but if experience is anything to go on, dicksucking voice hurts more as time passes until it gets better all at once.

That's fine, though, because he still has butterscotch clouds floating through his head, and nothing's anything other than fine when he's floating.

Louis rubs George's back. "Let me see your face, love."

George pulls back enough to look at Louis. He knows the rims of his eyes are bright and his eyelashes stuck together and there are probably still smears of come on his chin.

"Oh, love," Louis murmurs. He gently cleans up George's face as best he can with his thumbs. "I shouldn't like how you look right now as much as I do."

George smiles at him, as well as he can with his lips burning. "I like when you like me," he reasons, voice breaking in and out.

Louis goes a little pink and chuckles under his breath. "Stop trying to talk, love. Rest your voice. And," he leans in and kisses George's nose. "Love you _all_ the time."

George wants to say it back, but Louis has told him to rest his voice, so instead he pushes his lips against his fingertips and blows Louis a kiss.

Louis smiles and kisses both of George's cheeks. "Budge up, love, go give Harry a cuddle while I get dressed." His voice goes a bit serious and uncertain. "Will you be alright watching the show with Danielle and Perrie while we're onstage?"

"Yes," says George reluctantly. He wants both of them with him now and all the time, but he thinks he'll probably be alright by the time they have to go. He hopes, anyway, because if he's not there's no way either of the girls will know how to fix him.

He looks over at Harry, sprawled boneless on the other end of the sofa, and Harry gives him a warm grin, opening his arms.

"Ged'ere," he says, and George giggles completely soundlessly as he glormps over to snuggle into Harry's embrace. It's a strange feeling, knowing that he's laughing but not making any sound – he's always been fond of the sound of his laugh, too.

"Thank you so much," Harry whispers to him, kissing his head. "That was amazing, Georgie. So, so good, you've been such a good boy today."

George's whole body seems to relax and he smiles, resting his cheek against the plane of Harry's chest, just over the smaller of his two birds.

Harry laughs softly, his fingers in George's hair. "You're so lovely. I'm glad you're here. You should be here. You belong here."

George bites Harry's clavicle lightly in reply.

"Hope you like the show," Harry mutters, his other hand stroking fingertips lightly down George's spine and then back up.

George nods as enthusiastically as he can when he feels so sleepy and spent. He bites Harry's shoulder this time, playful.

"Cute." Harry bites him back, teeth tugging George's earlobe. "Would you like a really quick nap, sweetheart?"

George shakes his head. He wants to be with Harry and Louis as much as he can, because he was without them all day and without them all _week_ before that and he can sleep any time.

"If you're sure." Harry's thumb presses into one of the lovebites on George's neck. "How're you feeling?"

George tries to hum and ends up gurgling a bit, so he blushes and gives Harry a cheesy grin instead.

Harry kisses him, which is always nice. "People are going to see these." He presses his thumb in a little harder, in case it wasn't clear what he was talking about. "Do you mind that?"

George shakes his head before Harry's even finished asking, because _of course_ he doesn't mind. He wishes he could wear them as his costume on –

Oh, right. The show is over for him now.

"Good. I like being able to show off you're ours sometimes." Harry tucks his face against George's neck. "You're ours all the time."

George smiles into the warmth of Harry's neck (even though it's a little sweaty). He knows he's always theirs. It's – somehow, it's become something that he can depend on, and he's not sure when that happened.

It's nice, though. Unexpected, but really nice.

Harry looks up at Louis even as his fingers still drag slowly through George's soft hair. "How long until we need to change and get our makeup done?"

Louis is smiling at them gently, and it takes him a moment to respond. "Not sure. I'll ask Liam, it's probably soon."

Harry nods. He touches George's cheek. "D'you want some water or anything, Georgie? Tea? Lozenge?"

George shakes his head. He doesn't want anything but what he has right now. Maybe in a little while he'll want some water, but now he just wants to stay where he is and cuddle.

Besides, he has a sneaking feeling that swallowing anything is going to be a fairly unpleasant experience and he'd just rather not disturb their moment right now.

"Okay, if you're sure." Harry smiles, his lips pressing to George's forehead. "Let us know if you want anything."

George smiles and tightens his fingers on Harry's side. That's right, he is allowed to ask, isn't he, like Aiden said. Like Aiden did, or does.

He kisses Harry's collarbone and relaxes. His throat is going to be a wreck for a while but he honestly doesn't care. He likes knowing there'll be a constant reminder of how good he is.

And what he wanted was to be quiet for a whole day, and it definitely seems like he'll get that wish.

He stays with Harry while Louis goes off to find out when they have to start getting ready. Harry doesn't say anything and neither does George. He doesn't have to, and he doesn't want to. He likes the silence, likes knowing he hasn't got to be funny or talkative or anything for Harry to like him.

"You really were great this weekend," Harry murmurs finally. He kisses George's forehead, just at the crest of his hair. "Much better than we were back then."

George smiles to himself, and props his head up to look at Harry. "Thank you," he whispers. "Just not good enough. But that's okay."

"You were good enough," Harry mutters. "It's not – like, Ella got the same place as _Wagner_ did. It's not about how well you did."

When George giggles, it hurts. "Remember him. Good point."

Harry ducks down to kiss George's neck lightly. "I'd say I'm sorry for this, but I'm not. I mean, I'm sorry it'll hurt you for a day or so, but I'm not sorry it happened."

And George understands, weirdly enough. He feels the same way. It's not a _good_ feeling, knowing they didn't do enough to make the finale, but he is glad it means he can be here with his boys right now.

He nuzzles Harry's jaw and shrugs. When he whispers, his voice cracks. "'S'alright."

Harry is rubbing little circles on the small of George's back and it feels really nice. "It will be," he corrects quietly.

George leans back and tries swallowing gingerly a few times to say something a bit longer. "It is. We're not ending. Gonna get flats together."

"Are you?" Harry grins at him. "That sounds lovely. You're alright now, then? Better?"

George nods and doesn't try to say anything again. He gives Harry a smile, though, and knows that his lips are red.

Harry kisses him as Louis slips back into the room. 

"Hazza, twenty minutes," he says, closing the door behind him. "That's when we're due with Lou."

Harry grins. "Thanks. You wanna take George for a bit so I can shower, as I do smell quite bad?"

"Love to." Louis and Harry switch places almost without George having to move at all, which is a feat. "Hello, darling, how're you?" Louis asks him as Harry traipses off.

George grins at him and shrugs in what he hopes comes across as _happy! couldn't be better!_ and not _I don't know, I'm confused by your question_.

"Good," says Louis, which George thinks means it must have come across clearly. "I'm glad. Throat doesn't hurt too much? Need anything to eat or drink?"

George shakes his head, and croaks, "Ate with Danielle and Perrie."

"I think you should have some water before we go off for hair and things," Louis instructs, his knuckles brushing along the line of George's throat. "Please."

Giving Louis the pleading eyes, George wrinkles his nose.

"Ah." Louis nods. "Hurts too much?"

George touches his adam's apple and whispers, "Don't fancy finding out?"

"Suppose that's a good reason not to, then." Louis sighs, and kisses George's fingertips. "After the show, you'll need to have something, though."

George nods and adjusts his perch on Louis' lap so Louis doesn't have to look so far _up_ to see his face. It's always strange to remember that he's taller than Louis, because he doesn't feel like he's bigger.

"I love how you look right now," Louis whispers to him. "I want a way to be able to look at you like this whenever I want."

George bites his lip, because – well, because that's something he wants, too, and he's allowed to ask, but he can't, because he can't ask them _that_. It's too much, and besides, he really can't ask. His throat has never been this dry, ever. The Sahara Desert has never been this dry.

"What is it, love?" Louis coaxes. "Or – can't talk, can you? Can you. Mime it?" He frowns. "Or write it down?"

George hesitates, then goes for the most direct route.

He pulls his mobile from his pocket and takes a picture of Louis' face, close like this and brow just slightly drawn.

"Hmm?" Louis raises his eyebrows. "Oh. _Oh_. Really? Would you – Is that something you'd want?"

This time, the shrug is meant to convey _yeah, I dunno, like, that'd be cool, I'm not super excited that you're not obviously upset because I want this more than anything ever besides maybe my very own cage; like, yeah, mate, it'd be kinda neat._

Louis hums again. "Have I ever told you," he says thoughtfully, "that sometimes I'll tell Harry to find a toilet and jerk off for me in an iPhone video?"

George sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth at that, because he wants those, too. Why hasn't he ever got one? That would be a lovely wakeup call.

"Nod or shake: Is that the sort of thing you mean?" Louis asks him.

George nods immediately.

Louis bites his lip a little. George takes that as a good sign. "I think we could work something out there, then," Louis says, then cleats his throat. "I think, yeah, we definitely can do that."

George's eyes light up like sparklers and he throws his arms around Louis' neck, hugging him so tightly that _Louis'_ voice might suffer for the night, too.

He doesn't push George away, though, just laughs and gives him a solid hug back, squeezing him with his massive python arms.

Gurgling a quiet little half-mew, George tucks his face into the side of Louis' bicep and gives him a toothy nip.

Louis hisses and pats George's bum. "So bitey," he murmurs, giving George a bite of his own on his shoulder.

George giggles and it still won't make sound, and that seems so silly and great to him now because the reason he can't laugh is because Harry fucked the hell out of his throat _backstage in the greenroom at Madison Square motherfucking Garden_ and he's still – fucking hell; still naked – and he's going to make a _sex tape_ with two-fifths of One Direction and his life is so unbelievably absurd and wonderful that it doesn't even matter anymore that he's only placed fourth on the X Factor. Because shit, he placed fourth on the X Factor. This is his life. _This_ is his life. This _is_ his life. This is _his_ life. This is his _life_ , and he's _happy_.

"Okay, I'm good," comes Harry's voice from behind him. Harry Styles' voice. "Are we ready to go?"

Peeking up at Harry from over Louis' shoulder, George is so overwhelmed with euphoric silent laughter that all he can do is clip Louis' shirt between his teeth and try not to look any more like a naked nutter.

Harry smiles at him. "Doing okay, Georgie?" he asks, pecking a kiss to the top of George's head. "You should watch dressed like this."

George goes bright red at that, because he thinks neither Liam and Zayn nor Danielle and Perrie would appreciate that.

"Or you can wear clothes." Harry sighs and drapes himself over the back of the couch in a fake swoon. "If you must."

George kisses Harry's knuckles.

"We've got to go." Louis is shaking his head in amusement. "Nutters, I've got nutters for boyfriends. Up you get." He shoves Harry back upright.

Harry stumbles over his own feet and wheels around on his topsy-turvy axis for a moment before righting himself and finding George's clothes on the floor. He tosses them to George, who catches them.

He doesn't particularly _want_ to get dressed, but he doesn't want to parade around naked, either, so he reluctantly pulls his clothes back on. When he reaches up, he can still feel at least one of his lovebites above his collar, and he smiles.

"You look lovely," Louis praises George, ruffling his hair. "Freshly fucked as a daisy."

"That's not the thing," Harry says. "It's just 'fresh as a daisy.'"

"Well, he doesn't look that," Louis argues.

"Can you fuck daisies?" asks Harry pointedly, hands on his hips. "No, you can't."

"Don't talk about it; reminds me of my sister." Louis looks both murderous and nauseated.

Harry cringes. "Shouldn't have started it then, should you?" He nudges his hip against Louis' when Louis slips off the couch. "Your fault."

Louis sniffs. "Nothing is ever my fault. 'Cept when it is."

"So goes life," agrees Harry. "Come on, we'll be late. Or something. Can we be late? Probably not." He crouches to kiss George. "D'you want to stay in here or we can stake out where the girls went?"

George jumps up and smiles: there's no way in the world he's missing their show.

"Answer enough," laughs Louis. He tangles his fingers with George's for a moment, just long enough to squeeze them.

Louis and Harry each sling an arm around George's little waist to lead him through the labyrinthine maze beneath the Garden, and George doesn't really think life could get better.

He's already having a hard time comprehending that he's here, about to see a One Direction concert ( _the_ One Direction concert) and not even in the audience, in the wings, like he matters to them because he does.

(The back of his mind, the bottom of his heart, is buzzing with a kind of hopeful jealousy, too: they didn't win, either – only placed one higher than him – and they're performing here tonight. Maybe, maybe, probably not but maybe, in two years, Union J can come back. All four of them.)

Maybe it's a silly dream. But if George has learned nothing else in the past four and a half months, it's that even the silliest of dreams can come true.

Maybe not exactly in the ways he'd expected. Or known existed. Or known he wanted.

But still.

There are people milling around, and one or two give George looks, curious looks, like they think they know him from somewhere. He's not as important as whatever they're doing, though, so they just look away.

They find all the rest of One Direction with Danielle, Perrie, and assorted other friends ( _Ed fucking Sheeran_ is here!) in the makeup room. Makes sense; it's where the X Factor contestants would congregate, too, because Jamie was so funny.

George will miss Jamie.

He'll see him again, next week for the finale, but after that he really won't see him anymore because even if the show's already ended for George, it's ending for real after next weekend. There's something very sad about that.

Maybe they can hire Jamie someday. Harry's giving Lou Teasdale what looks like the hug of a lifetime, so anything's possible.

Louis doesn't leave George on his own, which is good because George doesn't really know, like, anyone else. He supposes he could talk to Perrie and Danielle, but they're standing with Liam and Zayn so even that would be intimidating.

It's not that Liam and Zayn are inherently scary, or anything. He _could_ talk to them if he wanted.

Or, well. If he... could talk.

"How're you doing, babe?" asks Louis, his hand on George's back. "Are we up or down?"

George gives him a double thumbs' up and a cheesy grin. He doesn't actually think he's under now, anyway, and that's probably good. This way he can just enjoy the show.

"You're going to be alright while we're onstage?" Louis checks. "I should've known better, now I feel weird leaving you on your own without anybody there who'll know what to do."

George shakes his head firmly and croaks, "I'm fine. Go smash it!"

"Shh," says Louis, resting a finger on George's lips. "Only if you promise to rest your throat. For later." He trails his finger down George's chin and over his adam's apple. In the middle of a room full of people.

George goes pink around the edges, but mostly, he thinks that if Louis trusts all these people enough, then that's a vote of confidence that he should, too.

And it does feel nice, that Louis doesn't mind doing this where people can see. It feels really good. Like George is really, like he's a part of it.

He's not something that has to be hidden from the rest of their lives, and it's like – it reminds George of that night that Harry and Louis came along with Union J to that pub and Louis and JJ had a shotglass balancing contest and it just felt like it was normal. For all the time George spends assuring people that it is a normal thing, it's nice to see proof.

"Do you mind if I go have a chat with Lou, then?" Louis squeezes the back of George's neck. "You can stay with Pezza if you want. She'll talk enough for the both of you."

George smiles and dares to kiss Louis' cheek.

He can feel Louis smile beneath his lips, and then pat his back. "I'll be back soon," he whispers, and then he's off dodging people to get to the center of the room.

George hangs back, though, and rests his head against the cool cinderblock of the wall, content just to watch.

Everybody seems happy, is the thing. And George likes when people are happy. Laughing and talking and just existing with each other and smiling, and it's all really good.

It looks what what his future might be in a year or two, if things keep working with Jaymi and JJ and Josh. He wants that more than almost anything.

And right now, when everything's so good and nice and bright, it seems possible. George has to hope that it's possible.

Niall sidles over and leans on the wall next to George. He smirks. "You look happy."

George gives him a grin. He is happy, very happy. So happy he almost just says it out loud before he remembers, _ouch_.

Niall's eyes narrow. "Do I want to know why you're not talking?"

George shrugs, and puts on his best smile, biting his lip. Probably not, but George doesn't actually know Niall, so maybe he does want to know.

Niall rolls his eyes. "Well, at least it wasn't Louis this time."

George raises his eyebrows. That, on the other hand, sounds very interesting, and George would love to hear more about it.

Niall shakes his head, though, and looks back across the room to where Harry is getting makeup brushed over his nose by Lou Teasdale while Louis gazes on fondly.

"They're good together," Niall says meaningfully. "And usually they hurt when someone else tries to get in on it. I don't know you, so I'm not gonna tell you off. But I'm gonna tell you not to hurt them."

That's – it's very sweet, really, of Niall, but it does sort of make George want to be sick somewhere. His stomach sinks so fast he genuinely wobbles for a moment. He doesn't want that, ever, doesn't want to be the one to hurt them again. Because Niall's right, they're amazing together, and he knows that every time they've had a third it hasn't ended well.

"I wouldn't," he rasps, because it feels like something he needs to say aloud. "Never."

Niall studies him carefully. "You don't like one of them better'n the other?"

"No!" George exclaims. He winces and rubs his throat. That one actually hurt. He, it's too different for him to have a preference. The way Harry acts with him is different from how Louis acts with him. He doesn't have a preference either way. It's just different. "No," he repeats, more quietly.

"Good," Niall declares. "Because Aiden liked Louis better and Nick loves Harry and that's a mess. So you'd better not."

"I won't," whispers George. That's that. He just won't. He can't imagine doing that, ever, and if he even thought about it he'd probably shrivel up and die instead.

Because really, there's no _way_ for him to like one more than the other. They balance each other; they make up for the parts of the other that George doesn't like as much or needs more of or needs less of.

He couldn't have just one or the other, because it just wouldn't be enough, and maybe, maybe that's ruined George for _any_ other relationship but that's fine because he's in this one. And this one's just perfect.

He glows a little, and maybe he looks like a bit of a nutter, but tonight, he thinks that's okay.

After all, One Direction all always look like complete nutters.

"Alright, stop looking so happy," mutters Niall. He looks a bit embarrassed but mostly satisfied. "Christ, all of you."

There's a rush for the next two hours as One Direction prepare for their show, and all George can do is hang back with Danielle and Perrie, keeping out of the way.

"Doing alright, sweetie?" chirps Perrie. "I know it can all be a little overwhelming."

George grins at her and nods happily. He yawns, though, and then gives another soundless little giggle.

Perrie makes another one of those mum noises, all cooing and soft. She pets George's head fondly.

He likes Perrie, he thinks. She's very cuddly. She wasn't at the club that time he met the rest of Little Mix – he supposes she was with Zayn – but he's glad to have met her now.

He hopes they'll keep in touch. He knows he'll keep in touch with Dani, as she'll be coming on tour with them, but he hopes he keeps in touch with Perrie, too.

He thinks he will. The X Factor types tend to stick together, he's heard.

Before they have to go off to get into their zone or whatever it is One Direction do, Harry and Louis both pop over really quick to make sure he's alright and give him hugs. George's heart feels like it's about to explode from his chest.

He's excited for them. And nervous for them, too. But he just feels lucky to be here.

"Come on, we should go get into the best spot for watching," Danielle says, hooking her arm through George's. Perrie's got his other arm, and he's pretty sure this is the same position he was in earlier.

He doesn't really mind it. He likes people who are nice and people who like people and people who like One Direction.

It's good that apparently Danielle and Perrie know where they're supposed to go because George hasn't got a clue where anything is or where he's supposed to be.

It transpires that when they said "in the wings," they really meant _in the wings_ , so close that George can feel the heat of the tremendous stage lights on his face.

"Wow," he whispers, because he can't help himself. The stage is gigantic (well, of course it is) and everything's so big and bright and beautiful.

His heart aches.

"Wow," agrees Perrie next to him. She looks a bit sniffly. "They've come really far, haven't they?"

Danielle is more than sniffly on George's other side, because she's really been there since the beginning, the very very first time One Direction performed on a stage, and Perrie and George busy themselves with giving her hugs.

"I'm fine, I'm being ridiculous," she laughs with mascara smudged underneath her eyes. "I just love these boys so much and – and Liam, and I'm, I didn't think I was going to get to be here."

George gives her shoulder a fluffy headcuddle. He didn't expect to be here, either, but he can't really imagine what it's like for her.

She laughs another watery laugh. "You're very sweet." She gives George a proper hug, careful to keep her face away from his shirt, probably to save it from black smearing.

The concert is kind of a supernatural experience for George. He couldn't actually say once it's over what happened or when, and part of that is the screaming – he's never heard anything so loud in his life – and part of it is just the cloud of narcotic _joy_ that seems to have settled over the entire massive building.

Is this the effect that One Direction has on people? It's like a drug or something, and George feels so caught up in all of it, in watching them and listening to them and feeling the connection between them and the crowd. It's nothing he'll ever forget in a thousand lifetimes.

After the show is over, all five boys – they suddenly look so much smaller than they did ten minutes ago – stand in a hugging huddle, all intertwined, for a long time. George feels like even if he were to try – which he wouldn't, not ever; he feels privileged enough standing this close to them – he wouldn't be able to touch them. Nobody can touch them.

That spell breaks when Zayn wriggles his way out from between Liam and Harry and bounds over to Perrie, roaring, to throw her in the air and catch her over his shoulder, spinning.

Perrie screeches and everyone laughs, and everyone's so happy and bouncy and George feels like he's got adrenaline too just from being near the others.

And then he's covered in boy on all sides, and they're sweaty and wet and smell, but he's sort of used to that and anyway, he loves them. He doesn't care what they smell like.

"Love you," Louis says into his ear, his grip so tight on George's arm that he'll probably have another bruise. "Love you love you love you."

George giggles, breathless and silent, and murmurs _love you too_ so that the soft touch of his lips spells it into Louis' skin.

And then Harry _picks him up_ , like George weighs nothing, buries his face in George's neck and kisses him there over and over and over.

George clings to them, just proud. So, so, so proud of them. At least someone got to succeed this weekend.

He's a part of this, in the slightest way, and even that feels so important. He feels so good, like nothing could possibly be wrong ever and it's the greatest feeling, held here between them just breathing.

Danielle is bawling all over Liam, too, and that makes George giggle again against Harry's sweaty chest.

"What are you laughing at, sweetheart?" Harry's voice is giddy and raspy, but still not as raspy as George's. "What's funny, tell me tell me?"

George shakes his head. He rasps, "Just happy," and before he can finish getting the words out, Harry is smothering his lips in a kiss.

It's hard and fast and deep and _excellent_ , Harry's arms holding him tight, the warmth of Louis on his other side.

George winds his arms more comfortably around Harry's neck and just... enjoys it. And feels glad.

He's actually a bit winded when Harry stops kissing him, and has to take a moment to just breathe before Louis is shuffling him around to get a kiss of his own.

Louis' hands slip into George's back pockets as they kiss, and he gives George's bum a good squeeze.

"Keep it clean," Harry whispers in George's ear, which is hilarious considering George can feel that Harry's got a hard-on the size of God pressing into George's lower back.

George grins at that and just wiggles his bum a little. He's happy; sue him.

"I really want to get you back to the hotel so we can fuck you," says Louis, his breath hot and close. "But we need to feed you, and Niall. So it'll have to wait a bit."

George makes a tiny, dry, popping little sound of disappointment at that, but he _is_ hungry. And thirsty; the stage lights were broiling even from the sides.

"I know, love." Louis bites George's lower lip, quick and sharp. "Sooner we do that, sooner I can have you in a bed."

George bites his lip, and then, for good measure, Louis'.

Louis looks like he'd very much like to kiss George again, but there's another Massive Human Person Thing ushering them away from the wings. It's a different Massive Person from last night (last night seems so long ago to George) but he's no less intimidating.

"So!" Zayn calls, Perrie still over his shoulder like a lavender scarf. "Where we going, lads?"

"Don't care," mutters Harry, mouthing a kiss to the back of George's neck. "Wherever's closest?"

"I want a cheeseburger," Niall says over Harry. "No! I want a double cheeseburger."

"They make triple cheeseburgers in America, probably," says George, croaky, as well as he can when he's got a member of One Direction on each side of his neck.

His voice is mostly a squeaky hiss. He kind of likes it.

"Probably," Harry agrees. "Let's get you one, then."

He heaves George up over his shoulder like he's prone to doing. George sighs and resigns himself to it.

Judging by how pink Perrie's face is, this is the default mode of transport for WAGs of One Direction. Not that George is either a wife or a girlfriend.

He's just a George. And he doesn't belong to _all_ of One Direction. Just Harry and Louis. Maybe they're the HAL of George. No, that sounds silly.

Although that sort of makes him like it even more.

But no, he knows what he is.

He's their submissive. And he's really, really proud of it.

"Hey," says Harry, wriggling a little. "Want a piggyback?"

George nods and Harry flips him around so that George can get a good perch on Harry's back.

He nearly slides off, but accidentally gets a grip on Harry's hair that makes him hiss and tighten his hold on George's thighs.

"Sorry," George whispers. Louis' hand comes up to rest on George's back, warm and steadying.

Harry practically gallops down the hall, and George is giggling the whole way, his arms tight around Harry's neck so he doesn't fall off. He feels slightly drunk with everything.

They all pile, the eight of them, into a black van and head deep into the heart of Manhattan at night, all sparkling colored lights and neon and glittering grit in the pavement.

Louis keeps his hand on George's thigh, squeezing the whole way. It's not a very long drive but it feels like hours because it's dark and there's just soft murmurs and occasional shouts and it's nice and cool and perfect.

They end up at...

"McDonalds?" George croaks, a little confused. He doesn't know what he had expected, but the McDonalds in Times Square is not it.

"Nearest place with double cheeseburgers," Louis reasons, gesturing to the seat in front of them where Niall appears to be ordering about twenty sandwiches. "What would you like, dove?"

George swallows a few times and winces. "Milkshake?"

Liam starts humming Kelis.

And then he starts beatboxing and all the other members of One Direction start in on the song from wherever they are in the car.

And this is George's real life.

He covers his face with both hands, but peeks out through his fingers. It's not like he can act that indignant. It's true.

"Is that all you want?" Louis asks when they're finished serenading the car with hits from 2003 or whenever. "I'd like you to have something solid, if you can."

George's fingertips fleet over his throat and he gives Louis an apologetic look. He opens his mouth and a helpfully pathetic squeak comes out.

Louis frowns a little, but George doesn't think it's at him. "Niall!" Louis says a bit louder. "Have they got anything here that's, like, soft?"

"Milkshakes, Coke, ice cream sundaes, those things that are like mixed-up ice cream sundaes," Niall recites. "Erm, coffee."

George perks up a bit, giving Louis a hopeful look.

Louis rolls his eyes. "That's not food."

Widening his eyes, George carefully leans his head against Louis' shoulder and bites his lip lightly.

"Fine, you can have a milkshake," Louis ascents. "Since you brought all the boys to the yard."

"Do they make coffee-flavored milkshakes?" George asks, rubbing his throat. This is going to be awful when he wakes up. "Coffee-flavored sundaes? Coffee-flavored coffee?"

"Stop talking," Louis murmurs against the side of George's face. "I'll pick for you, alright?"

George shivers, and nods. He always likes that.

He ends up with an absolutely fucking enormous chocolate milkshake, because apparently portion sizes are not sensible at all in America.

"It's as big as your head," Harry says with what sounds like slight awe. "It's as big as the moon."

George gives him a dark pout that he hopes says, _my head is not the size of the moon_.

Harry kisses him, and his lips are warm where George's are cold.

They all sit in the van under a bright skein of lights in the towering shadows of Times Square, and George thinks that really, he couldn't ask for a better Monday night.

George doesn't think he'll be able to drink the whole milkshake, but he's surprised by how much of it he actually manages to get down before he's full.

He sighs happily and leans back against Louis' shoulder.

"Hello, love," Louis says, and he manages to get his arm around George's waist. "Did that help?"

George nods and gives Louis a smile, a real one, a small, private, grateful smile.

Louis kisses George's head, all soft sweetness. He looks like he's calmed down a bit from earlier, but his eyes still sparkle. "Can I tell you something?" he says to George.

George nods, because of course, Louis can say anything he wants.

Louis' mouth quirks up a little, and he nuzzles in close to George's ear. "So in love with you sometimes it's hard to breathe," he murmurs. "An' I can't think of anyone we'd rather share tonight with."

George squeaks a little again just because he's so happy that he might burst. It feels like his bones are glowing down to the marrows, like he's radiating brighter than the whole of Times Square.

The night around them is bright with lights and with the essence of New York, George thinks. Is it possible that life can get better than his is?

Harry kisses the side of George's neck, warm and sweet just beneath his ear.

The drive to the hotel is much quieter than the drive to McDonalds had been. Everyone is winding down and the glimpses George gets of the others are of tired, sated people, and they're all glowing, too.

Perrie kisses Zayn gently. Danielle and Liam look nearly asleep, heads rested together on Liam's shoulder and fingertips twined to barely touch.

Niall is in the middle of everyone, slouched down far enough that the only part of him George can see is his snapback.

Harry and Louis each rest a hand on one of George's thighs and he's steadied, anchored.

This is where he wants to be.

Bodyguards help all of them get to where they're supposed to go when they arrive back at the hotel. It's late so there aren't that many people in front of the building but they still use the back entrance, because it's One Direction, George supposes.

He yawns a little as they're hustled through the door. 

"Was there ever really a girl in a bin?" he asks Harry curiously.

Harry laughs at him. "Yes," he says fondly. "It's my favorite story. She was my favorite fan."

George pouts out his lower lip melodramatically. "I never had a girl hide in a bin. Just sneak her way onto our hotel floor and try to flash me through the peephole."

"Well, that's something," Harry comforts. "Everyone tries to flash us in Sweden, I think it is. Or Switzerland."

George hesitates for a moment just outside their suite door as Louis fumbles for his keycard, and then, ignoring the little nagging voice that reminds him he's just had most of an Earth-size milkshake, lifts his t-shirt to flash Harry.

Harry's face lights up and it makes George feel really good inside. Harry then scoops him up and makes a _pbbbt_ against George's stomach. It's such a weird sensation that George screech-giggles as he's carted inside.

It hurts his throat like a _motherfucker_ and he gives a despairing, breathy whine as Harry drops him down on the bed.

"Careful, dear, your throat," Harry chastises, kissing his way from George's belly button up to his neck.

George jabs his finger at Harry's shoulder and draws his eyebrows together to say _your fault_.

Harry snaps his teeth at George's finger and wriggles his own eyebrows, which is amusing and slightly titillating.

George narrows his eyes, and then the mattress shifts as Louis, in only his pants, sits down on the edge of the bed.

"Hey, gross," Louis says, prodding Harry in the ribs. He leans in and nuzzles Harry's throat, then down to kiss George's neck. "I'm filthy with concert and so are you. We should get clean before we get dirty again."

Harry whines a little against the soft of George's neck. "But _George_. Right here."

"So we'll bring him with us," reasons Louis, and that sounds fantastic to George. "Maybe George would like to be clean as well. What d'you say, gorgeous? Mind a shower before I get to lick you?"

George tilts his head, biting his lip, and murmurs in the fucked-out low rasp of his cocksucking voice, "Can _I_ lick _you_ in the shower?"

Louis shivers visibly and George feels more accomplished than he thinks he's ever felt in his life. "I," says Louis, "I think that would be more than alright."

George grins at that and wriggles his way out from beneath the bulk of Harry.

Meanwhile, Harry sighs and flops on the bed. "You know, we're like, popstars. I don't think they're renowned for how clean all the sex they have is. We should be fucking in mud or piles of needles or something."

George looks down at Louis and shakes his head a little desperately. "Red on piles of needles."

"No piles of needles," Louis agrees. "Harry, you're weird. Get up so we can wash the stink off you."

Harry grumbles and his back cracks in a long line of popping sounds as he unfolds his long body off the bed.

"There we go." Louis pecks Harry's cheek. "Very good, Hazza. Only a few more steps into the bathroom now."

Harry wrinkles his nose and schlumps into the bathroom, flicking on the light as he goes. 

Louis wraps his arms around George and kisses the side of his neck. "You're all ours now, love, for the next week."

George smiles at that and kisses Louis' arm. "Good, 'cause I can't wait anymore. But you do smell."

Louis gasps in mock indignation and just holds George tighter, dragging him along into the bathroom.

Which, George thinks, is the size of his mum's house.

He's been in it but it's still fucking ridiculously large, and it takes George aback every time he sees it. It's just so weird that George is even in this bathroom, and then taking how big it is into account... It's just, he never anticipated this life.

It's like Louis and Harry themselves. Everything is larger than life, bigger than he thought things – people – could be.

"I'll get the water, Louis never does it right," mumbles Harry, giving George's hip a pat before he trudges off to adjust the temperature of the shower.

Louis just keeps holding George, fingers pressing into George's biceps to keep in tucked up close. He dots kisses along the column of the back of George's neck.

George relaxes against him. He can't think of a reason not to. He's not thinking much at all, if he's honest, because he feels comfortable, safe and happy, and that's all he needs. He might _want_ other things, but he thinks (while he's letting himself be soppy) that this is all he really needs.

Louis' crooked lower teeth scrape lightly against the bob at the top of George's spine and it makes George shiver, sighing softly.

"This is good," he whispers, leaning his head back to rest on Louis' shoulder. "Today, and all of it. "S'good." He coughs, his hand moving to rub his throat again. Right, no talking.

Louis tips his head forward to kiss the side of George's throat just over where, inside, it feels rubbed raw. It's _been_ rubbed raw.

"No talking now, alright, love? Quiet until I say."

Something in George's mind feels like it melts a little at that. He's missed all of this, Louis telling him what to do and touching him and liking him. He's missed it all so much. Carefully, he nods.

Louis' hand is light and gentle as he runs it lightly over George's chest to raise goosebumps.

"There," says Harry with satisfaction in his voice. "Perfect. Not too hot, like you make it." He gives Louis a silly look. "Come on, before it goes cold and ruins everything, in, in, in."

Louis urges George forward and George goes straight from Louis' arms to Harry's and he sighs, the tension in his shoulders melting under the spray of hot water and the solid steadiness of Harry.

"Hello, sweetheart." Harry is all murmury and soft and pleasant to touch.

The shower is gigantic enough that they all fit in it and nobody bashes an elbow against porcelain or anything. They all just fit. It's something of a metaphor.

A metaphor they can wash in, which is even better than a regular one.

The soap Harry starts scrubbing over himself doesn't smell like hotel soap. It smells like what Harry always smells like, so they probably brought it from home, and George is more endeared by that than he should be.

Louis clucks a little impatiently while Harry lathers over the lines of tattoos spanning all across his clavicle.

"George, come keep me company," Louis murmurs. "I haven't got to see you as much as I'd like."

George moves without thinking, taking a step to the side and knocking the back of his hand against Louis'. He looks at him with a smile, because Louis makes him smile.

Louis scritches his fingertips through George's wet hair. "You look nice, love."

That makes George's smile widen, and he hums. Humming isn't talking, is it? He tilts his head back to urge Louis on, taking another shuffling step forward.

Louis leans up a little and murmurs, "Give me your lips; one more kiss before we play, alright, and then you know the rules."

He does. He knows all their rules now, the wheres and whys and the whos behind them, too.

He does so love kissing Louis, though, and he sighs into it. He doesn't want it to end and not just because he knows it's the last one for a while. Louis is a really good kisser and George wants to kiss him long enough to memorize every technique and every twist of Louis' tongue.

He thinks, maybe, that this kiss will need to last him a week, and then months and months, and he's going to make it last.

Louis makes a quiet growly sort of noise into George's mouth and bites his lower lip once, hard enough that it stings and George is surprised into a moan.

"Ah," Louis pulls away, just far enough that their lips only brush light as feathers. "No talking, George. Actually, no noise at all until I say." He kisses George's cheek this time, and George knows that this means they've really begun. "Can you do that for us, love?" He kisses George's other cheek. "Be completely quiet, even when we make you come?"

George inhales, sharply. He _wants_ that, and he nods, biting his lip. He can do that. He can definitely do that.

Harry slides up close against George's back and seems to immediately test that resolve with all of his slick wet skin and sweet soapy smell and the big hand that wraps around George's cock.

And he has to breathe heavily to keep from making any noise, but he does it. George ends up gasping silently, mouth falling open, but he doesn't make a sound.

"Good, George," Louis whispers. He's barely audible over the water roaring around them, but it seems to dim in deference to Louis. "You look so good."

George gives him a smile. He loves it when Louis tells him he's done good. It's one of his favorite things.

Harry noses at George shoulder a bit as he keeps stroking his hand over George's not-quite-hard cock. "Lou," he says conversationally, "Now we've got a George, what should we do with him?"

"That's a very good question," Louis replies, his voice just as casual as Harry's. His eyes, though, there's nothing casual about his eyes, dark and blue and on George.

"I wanna fuck him," Harry murmurs, low and dark, and George feels energy crackle through the air around them.

"Yeah," says Louis. He nudges his thumb underneath George's chin. "Yeah, I want you to fuck him, too. Harry's going to fuck you," he says to George. "He's going to fuck you really good, deep and hard and just like you want."

George bites his lip hard enough to keep the sounds inside and nods, eyes shining. He reaches out, though, and pets at Louis' belly, because Louis hasn't been able to come _at all_ today and George _wants_.

"Shh, not yet," Louis whispers, leaning in to bite George's neck. He keeps his mouth there after the initial bite and sucks, kisses, licks. It takes a lot for George not to groan or moan or make any noise at all.

He's hard now, in Harry's hand, hips moving in little thrusts and halted pushes to try and feel everything.

"In here," says Louis decisively. "It's big enough. And I don't want to wait."

"Good," Harry says back, and punctuates it with a soft nibble of George's ear. "How's that sound, George?"

George's automatic response would be to make a noise to signify how perfectly alright that sounds to him, but he catches himself in time and nods instead.

"Perfect Georgie." Harry's thumb slides over the tip of George's dick to collect a little precome. George exhales sharply through his nose.

"You're doing so well." Louis kisses his head, and then sets a hand in the center of George's chest. George feels Harry move away from him, and Louis pushes gently, until George's back is against the cold, slick wall of the shower.

Everything is sensation, from the cold against his backside to the warmth of the water and everything's slickness and skin and porcelain. 

"Georgie," says Louis, his voice soft in George's ear. He licks water droplets off of George's neck. "I want to try something. Harry," he says louder. "Wash. _Thorough_."

Harry's eyes darken at that. "Yeah, yeah. That's – yes, please."

"Thought you might like that," Louis murmurs with a little grin on his face. George wants to know what they're talking about, but he knows better than to ask, for more than one reason.

He doesn't _need_ to know, anyway, because they'll take care of him. He'll take care of them and they'll take care of him and that's how they work.

"I don't want you hurting your throat anymore," Louis says, touching two fingers to George's lower lip. "And I think I remember you saying you'd never done this before. Do you remember," he continues, his hand moving low, lower, lower still to slide behind George and down between his legs to touch his hole gently. "When I put my mouth on you, here?"

George nearly squeaks at that but instead just spreads his legs a bit for Louis, because – because it's Louis, mostly, but also because _yes_ he remembers.

"I think you should do that for Harry," says Louis, his eyes on George's. "I'm the only one who's ever done it to him and he'd like you to, so, so much."

George bites his lip until it's plumped and red-pink. Aiden never got to. _Nick_ never got to, and that surprises him, it surprises him that he – that Harry and Louis will let him.

It makes him feel special. Not that he didn't feel special before, but it's like now he's extra-special because they want him to do something with them that nobody else has ever got to do before.

And he will. He's never, either, and he'd tell them if he could speak, but he thinks Louis may know anyway. Louis just _knows_ things about him, sometimes, because he's started really paying attention. Once he really realized that George isn't just another Harry, he pays attention so well that it seems sometimes like Louis can see things in George that George can't even see in himself.

"Nod or shake, can you do that for Harry?" Louis asks him. He looks like he already knows the answer, but George appreciates him asking anyway.

Slowly, he nods, and gives Louis' cheek a little kiss.

He lingers, presses his hand against Louis' ribs.

"You're being a very good boy, George," says Louis, his hand coming up over George's. Their fingers slip between each other, and Louis' curl until he's just holding George's hand there, their fingers all tangled together.

George blinks and water clings into his eyelashes and Louis squeezes his fingers.

"Clean," Harry announces, his voice closer than George is expecting.

George suppresses a giggle at that but it makes him shiver all over anyway, his cock leaking at the tip and his eyes dark and bright and needy.

"Mm, good." Louis gives Harry a onceover. "Near the back, then, so nobody gets water in their eyes. That's shit," he says to George. "Completely throws you off."

George has to focus to get his urge to laugh to come out as a little trilling breath instead, because he's doing well and he needs to keep it up. Keep pleasing them, making them happy.

There's a squodgy bath mat beneath his toes, and George thinks that's probably good. He'll need to be on his knees for this and the bath is all hard and white and pretty, but not so good for softness.

Bless fancy hotel suites the size of Australia. They think of everything.

Harry has moved toward the back, and he's turned around and bent slightly at the waist and just... waiting. George thinks he'd go insane if he had to do that, just stand there and wait all open and exposed like that, but Harry just looks calm, and pleased.

It's trusting.

Harry trusts him, and Louis, too, and George knew that but there's something about when they let him see them like this, bent over or hands and knees or looking away from him, even, just waiting. George is still working on letting himself trust them enough for that, but he thinks he's getting there. Since they are.

"Go on," Louis urges softly, stepping away from George. "Slowly, if you please. As it's your first go with him."

George wants – something, he needs to be just exactly what Harry needs because Harry deserves the best. All the time, not just tonight.

Louis keeps a hand on his shoulder as George descends to his knees. He goes slowly even with the squodgy mat, because he knows what happens when you try to drop sexily to your knees. It _hurts_.

He kisses the back of Harry's knee, too, because it's little and pale and one of the only parts of him without tattoos. It looks lonely, and George doesn't want Harry's knees to be lonely.

Harry giggles, and his leg hitches upward a bit. He might be ticklish there, and George files that away in his head, because, because tickles are uplifting.

George touches the back of Harry's thigh, just to touch him somewhere new, and wraps the other hand around the curve of Harry's hip to anchor himself. And maybe anchor Harry, too.

He wonders if Harry's nervous about this, too. He guesses it's possible, even if Harry doesn't seem to get nervous a lot of the time, because this is a first for Harry almost as much as it's a first for George.

The thought strikes George, slow like syrup but with the force of lightning, that maybe even Louis is a bit nervous. He reaches the hand that had been on Harry's thigh out behind himself instead, searching for Louis' hand.

Louis squeezes it, lightly, and George doesn't let go. He doesn't want to and he thinks if Louis wanted to he would.

Louis' other hand comes forward though and touches the back of George's head. "Get on with it, love. Are you alright?"

George nods, and presses his head back against Louis' touch. It's good, and soothes him, and makes it easier for him to sink into the gold feeling. He doesn't have to think with his mind all covered in gold.

Harry shifts his weight a little impatiently, but he keeps his head down and his hands flat on the wall.

It takes a shift higher on his knees for George to get into what feels like the right position. Harry's legs are stupidly long, and George slides his hands up the backs of his thighs, takes a deep breath, and leans forward.

The first swipe of his tongue makes Harry shudder. What George was worried most about before – the taste – is inconsequential, because Harry just tastes like skin and a little bit like soap, and water. George's shoulders relax. He leans in again to lick in one long stripe, his tongue pointed at the end. He hopes that's alright.

Harry hasn't been told to be silent, though, so he knows right away that it's alright. It's more than alright, and the moan that punches out of Harry's chest is raw, desperate, not like anything George has heard before and he's fucked Harry enough that he thought he knew all of Harry's sounds. He doesn't, though; there's so much more, so much he needs to do, so much he _wants_.

He doesn't hold back because he wants to hear _all_ of them, wants Harry to just not stop making noises until George is finished. He keeps his mouth on Harry this time, flicking his tongue and sucking a little and closing his eyes so that he can hear better.

Louis fingers card through his hair, too, and that's nice, excellent, perfect.

"Good, George," Louis murmurs. "That's perfect. Can you get your hand on his cock? I want you to make him come again so he can last ages when he's fucking you."

Of course he can, George can do anything as long as Harry's making sounds and Louis is touching him. He slides his hand over Harry's hip, damp and smooth skin. Harry jumps when George's fingertips touch his cock, like he hadn't been paying attention enough to realize Louis had told George to touch him.

Harry's breath comes out as a stuttering whimper when George's fingers slip around the width of him, fingertips just barely able to touch.

It's an odd angle, to be able to keep his mouth on Harry's arse and his hand on Harry's dick. It makes George's wrist hurt a little but mostly he just feels good.

It doesn't matter if his wrist hurts, anyway, because mostly he just feels Harry and Louis.

"That's so good, George, that's so perfect, you're so good at that," Louis tells him. "Just like that, perfect."

George forgets himself, then, and has to cut off a whine that sounds low in his throat, because he's so happy with himself and with them that he needs to, he needs to _something_.

The hand still clinging to Louis' fingers squeezes, something like private Morse code.

"Remember you can always talk to say your color," Louis reminds him, his hand soft on the back of George's neck.

George doesn't need to, though, doesn't want to take his mouth away until Harry's come.

He just squeezes Louis' hand and speeds up his other hand, trying to move his tongue and his fingers in the same rhythm. He's getting spit all over his lips and it's dripping down Harry's thighs and being washed away by water, and everything is so, so good.

Harry sounds like he's almost sobbing with it, and George is mesmerized. _He_ did this. He's _doing_ this.

He thinks he might like to do this all the time, if they'll let them. Now that he's doing it, it's so fun and so nice to be able to make someone feel good like this and Harry is shaking, _shaking_ because of how good George is making him feel.

George almost groans when Harry comes, spurting through George's fingers, slick and clinging to his skin and trailing into the beads of his collar.

He doesn't stop just yet, gives Harry a few more curious licks. He's twitching a little and it feels weird under George's tongue, but he never pushes George away.

Louis, though, pulls George lightly at the roots of his hair.

And George knows that means _stop_ , as clearly as if Louis had said it. He sits back on his knees and puts his hands in his lap even though he kind of wants to lick Harry's come off of them, looking up at Louis and waiting.

Louis smiles softly and brushes George's fringe away from his face. "So good, George, that was perfect. You're such a good boy; you made Harry so happy."

George can't help nuzzling his face up against Louis' wrist. He did so well. He's such a good boy. He likes making Harry happy, and he has, and Louis is pleased with him, and everything in the whole world is amazing.

"George," Louis murmurs. "We're going back to the bedroom so you can fuck me."

He wants to say _yes, please, always, keep me in your bed forever and ever and ever and don't ever let me be not fucking you_ but instead he just nods, because he's not supposed to use his words.

Louis helps George stand and his knees creak a bit.

He nearly falls over, squodgy bath mat and all, but Louis holds him steady, murmuring to him and keeping him up because he's got arms made of steel.

George nuzzles into Louis' neck, pliant and pretty and safe.

"Such a sweet boy," Louis sighs. "We need to get dry or the bed'll get damp and it'll be no fun."

George just stays where he is, though, and eventually Harry shimmies a flannel over George.

"That was amazing," he tells George, all pink cheeks and sparkling eyes. "That was so good, George, so really fucking good."

George's black eyes light up and he lets Louis steer him into Harry's arms so Louis can run a flannel over himself.

He feels so in and out of himself, like he doesn't have to think at all but also like he could think every thought in the world all at once.

He isn't sure whether that's – it's different. Different from usual.

Maybe it's just because it's been so long since he's been properly under. Maybe it's always like this and George is just noticing for the first time. Either way, it's good. Everything's good. George can't stop thinking about how everything is so _good_.

Harry kisses George's forehead. "Thank you, sweetheart. You're so good for me."

George feels like he's on overload, so many good feelings and emotions and he's done well and they like him and they _love_ him. It's all so much.

He bites Harry's shoulder, keeping the well of whimpers and giggles and _please_ s and _more_ s and _yes_ es and _love you so much I can't even stand it anymore_ s inside his chest.

"Let's go back out to the bed," Harry says softly, giving George a little shimmying hug like he knows what he's thinking. "I want to watch Lou with you."

George's breath stutters and he rubs his still-hard, sensitive cock up against Harry's hip.

Harry leads him out to the bed, and picks George up just to set him down on it. George is fully capable of sitting on a bed, but Harry doing it for him is... great. It's amazing.

George beams up at him and immediately lies back on the mattress, arms and legs akimbo because Harry's allowed to see all of him and he know, he knows, Harry actually wants to look.

And look Harry does. His eyes slide over what seems like every inch of George, and George can feel his eyes like a physical thing as clear as if Harry's touching him with his hands.

Harry sits down on the edge of the mattress and lets his hand just barely touch George's leg, almost hovering, putting every one of George's senses on edge as he runs his hands along all of the sides and angles of George's body.

"You look so good," Harry whispers, and he sounds taken aback, agog with George. "So much better than when we met you and I don't – "

George doesn't know exactly what that means, but it's clearly made Harry happy, so he nudges his knee against Harry's hip and smiles at him.

"I love you, George." Harry's eyes are solemn and sweet as he bends down to carefully, lightly, fit his lips against George's mouth.

It's like an explosion takes place behind George's eyes. An explosion of petals and clouds and soft things that just float around in the gold with him, making him feel pleasantly pillowed. It's like there's a pillow fight going on in his head but not the sort of pillow fight where pillows get broken and people fall off the bed. It's like the sort of pillow fight babies would have, or ducklings or something.

That's not – he can't – words, thoughts. He knows Harry. And when the mattress dips again, Louis, warm weight settling itself over George's hips.

George breathes, and looks up at Louis, his hair fluffy from being dried with a towel and his eyes look tired but alert at the same time, and Louis is so good, so beautiful, so George's.

Louis brushes his knuckles against the side of George's cheek. "My very own George. Harry, budge up."

Harry budges up, of course, because when Louis wants you to do something you just do it. Or maybe that's just George and Harry. Either way, Louis gives instructions that make people want to follow them.

Harry's fingers are gentle as he starts combing through snarls in George's hair where it's rubbed against the blankets.

"Want me to hold you down?" He asks in a molasses voice. "Give you bruises?"

George's breath catches in his throat, and he nods. He misses having bruises and he wants so many he can't count them anymore, and then he wants Harry and Louis to give him more when those fade.

He stretches his arms up over his head, fingers scrabbling against solid, smooth wood where he's used to the slats of Harry's headboard.

He doesn't like that, wants something he can hold on to that's sturdier than sheets, and he wants Harry's bed, with all of them in it. He misses Harry's bed.

"Hey," Louis whispers, touching George's lip with two fingers. "Are you okay, George? Your eyes got sad."

George is definitely okay, more than okay, because he's here and with them and he's going to fuck Louis and he just ate Harry out _really well_ and everything is fantastic. He nods enthusiastically.

Louis' worried brow smoothes out and he tucks the tips of his fingers between George's lips to suck. "No sad eyes, then, Georgie. Just want you happy."

He has fingers to suck on, he loves when he has fingers to suck on. George licks between Louis' fingertips and fastens his lips around them, closing his eyes to relish it.

Harry's big hands clasp down around George's biceps, then, the little muscle he's grown since the first time they met – the first time they fucked just like this, in a hotel bed – and tighten.

He can't hold back then, George has to, he moans. He tries to muffle it, in his arm by turning his head, but he just, he wants bruises and Harry and Louis, and this.

Louis' fingertips press down punishingly on George's tongue and he gags a little. It hurts his throat and he looks up at Louis apologetically from beneath his lashes.

"You know the rules," Louis murmurs, stroking lightly over George's tongue now. "Follow them."

George huffs a few breaths until his throat calms again to a dull, reminding ache, and nods.

"Good boy," replies Louis, his thumb stroking over George's chin. "Now, I'm going to get myself ready for you, and I want you to watch, and don't touch yourself, George. You can do that for me, can't you?"

George writhes up against Harry's tight grip just to show that even if he wanted, he couldn't move anyway.

Louis grins at him, his teeth glinting in the low light. "That's right, of course you won't." He digs in the drawer next to the bed and then sits back with the lube he's retrieved. "Watch," he reminds George gently.

Like George could tear his eyes away.

Louis is all tan and curves and muscles and he's so lovely to watch even when George isn't being told to. Louis is spreading his legs wide for George to see and coating his fingers with lube and he tucks two inside to start with, and it's gorgeous.

He's had to take his fingers out of George's mouth so he can rest that hand on George's chest for balance, and George bites his own lips together until they're almost white.

It's like Louis is making noise to make up for how George isn't. George doesn't recall Louis being quite so moany other times they've been together, but now he's murmuring and sighing and letting out these little whimpers that are driving George mad.

Louis gives George a positively _evil_ look with his blown-wide blue eyes.

It makes him want to do terrible things, like, like lick Louis all over or just his cock or fuck him, so it's good that he's going to get the opportunity.

Louis gives a particularly self-satisfied little moan. "This is good. Maybe I won't even let you fuck me, Georgie, not today. Maybe I'll just get myself off."

It's like he wants George to break, to make noise.

Well, he's dreadfully close, at the thought that he won't actually get to fuck Louis. He's still turned on from making Harry feel good and he wants to make Louis feel good, too.

He pulls up against Harry's grip and Harry's hands just tighten, pushing bruises into George's pale skin like he can practically feel the whorls of Harry's fingertips.

Louis and Harry are everything; George can barely feel the bed beneath him because everything is Harry holding him down and Louis' eyes on his and Louis' body and Harry's hands and everything.

He thinks Harry breathes, "Lou, look at him."

But he might not, he might not say anything, it might just be George's head, because there is nothing but hands and skin and touch.

"That's alright, George." Louis' voice seems to glow, bright silver and perfect. "You're so good, so perfect and pretty."

George braces his feet on the mattress, curls his toes into it, arches his back and his hips jerk and he wants to fuck Louis _now_ , wants to be inside him and fuck him and be good for him.

"Shhh," Louis soothes, and then he's sliding down onto George's cock.

George's lips part and he wants to make a noise but there's a pull in his stomach, and he doesn't, because Louis told him not to. Instead he just gasps for air. Louis is tight, so tight, and warm and tight and _hot_.

Harry's thumbs rub against the pale insides of George's arms as he keeps George held down flat against the mattress.

That helps, grounds him a little bit. Gives him something to focus on aside from how good Louis feels, even if it's just switching focus to how good _Harry_ feels.

He wants them to feel this good, too, wants Louis to feel better with him than he's felt before in his life and then he wants to make Harry feel good all over again and he wants them to keep him between them all night.

George braces his feet again so that he can push up against Louis, so that he isn't doing all the work. Louis is so good for him and George can be good for Louis, can help him fuck himself on George's cock.

Louis' shoulders roll at that, sending a long writhe down Louis' smooth back, driving him down harder onto George, deeper, bottoming out completely against George's thin thighs.

He wants to keep Louis there for a moment, and it seems like Louis wants to stay there, because he doesn't move, not yet, just breathes hard and keeps George inside him deep.

"You're so perfect, George," Louis mumbles, just barely rocking. "'M so glad you're here."

It's nice of Louis to say, but George knows that. He knows that they're glad he's here, and he's glad to be here as well, here in New York, here in this bed, here inside Louis. He's glad for all of it.

Louis reaches down and brushes George's hair out of his face lightly and George bites his lips to keep from mewing as he nuzzles up lightly into Louis' soft palm.

He gives it a little bit of a nip and Louis laughs, breathless and beautiful as he rides up again and then back down.

He leans down and braces one arm on the mattress along George's ribs, George chasing with his thighs, feet flat on the bed to give Louis back his leverage. 

"We're gonna wreck you this week, love," Louis mumbles. "Y'up for it?"

Of course George is up for him. That's all he's ever wanted, really, is _time_ with them. He wants to do everything they never had time for because George had to leave, or they did. He wants it all.

George nods enthusiastically and a tiny whimper claws its gnawing way out of his raw throat.

"Harry," Louis says conversationally, "Give George your fingers so he'll stop making noise."

That probably won't help, just because George likes sucking on things so much. He won't complain, though, not with Harry feeding him two fingers, long and gentle, his thumb pressing to George's jaw.

That means that one of his arms is loose again, though, and it makes George feel less – he wants them to keep holding him down and he wants them in his mouth and on his cock and he wants he wants them inside he wants everything all at once. As though reading his mind, Louis, bracing arm shifts and he's holding George's elbow flat against the bed with his whole weight now, shifting as he fucks back onto George's cock while his own prick smears at George's belly with slick precome.

It's perfect. It's everything he wants, gold and floaty and being held down and fingers in his mouth and Louis on his cock. It's everything.

It must show in his eyes, too, because Louis starts stroking himself off, furious and loud and needy and obscene and his voice is almost as rough as George's when he grits out, "Come when I come."

George keeps his eyes open, on Louis', and concentrates on the feeling of being held down, concentrates on Louis squeezing around him, concentrates on the gold floaty place he can sink down into like Louis sinks down on him.

Louis' lips are incongruously soft against George's chest, compared to how hard and fast their bodies are rocking together. "Ready, love? Close?"

His mouth is still occupied by Harry's fingers, and he's not supposed to talk anyway, so he tries to tell Louis that he is, so close, with his eyes.

"That's a good boy," Louis huffs, and then he bites George's chest.

George huffs out a breath around Harry's fingers, his lips slick with his own spit, and Harry's got such nice fingers, and George is so close, so so so close.

Louis' fingers squeeze George's arm a bit tighter, and Harry presses lightly against George's tongue. Louis groans, short and cut-off, as he comes, splattering George's belly and ribs.

That's all George needs, all he's ever really needed, and his toes curl, his head sings, his eyes close, and he comes, his fingernails pressing hard into his palms and leaving crescent-moon shaped marks there.

Louis keeps moving, slow and gentle, easing George through an orgasm so shattering that he feels tears prick up in the corners of his eyes because he's lightheaded with trying not to make any noise.

It seems to go on for ages, bright and metallic behind his eyelids, flashing lights and darkness all at once. George doesn't want it to ever stop even if it has to.

"Shhh." Louis' voice is gentle as it finds its way to George through the brightsoftgold dark. "Breathe, love. Come on."

George's breath evens out automatically, deep breaths from the bottom of his lungs. He doesn't want to open his eyes yet, but breathing is a good idea.

Harry laughs fondly from somewhere above him. "Remember when Georgie kept passing out every time he'd come?"

"Yes, it was terrifying," Louis chides, and there's a hand petting George's chest, rubbing in small circles. "Georgie? You can talk now, love, just try not to hurt your throat more."

George opens his mouth and makes a little needy noise.

"You've been a perfect boy today, George." There's a kiss against George's neck, and then another to his jaw. "So, so good, really amazing."

George preens a little at that and shifts, stretching, weightless. They aren't holding him down anymore and Harry hasn't gotten to come yet and George searches for him across the mattress.

"Oh!" comes his voice, so that must be his dick George's knuckles just brushed against.

George finally opens his eyes, blinking, and rolls over a little so he can look at Harry, huge and hard and just barely in reach of his fingertips.

Harry shifts a little closer and strokes his fingers through George's hair, softly. Gently. Careful.

Louis kisses George's side in the soft space below his ribs. "Such a good boy, Georgie. Turn over for Harry, okay?"

George makes an acquiescent noise, and squirms until he's on his stomach, like a discombobulated tortoise.

Louis kisses George, low at the bottom of his spine. "Perfect, just like that."

George hums happily. He's making Louis happy. Making him proud. He's doing everything right.

"Is that how you want Georgie, Harry?" Louis asks. He runs his fingers through George's hair.

"Yeah, yeah, that's just right," Harry says, low and eager. His fingers touch George's bum, and it makes George jump, just slightly.

Louis leans down and kisses the side of George's face. "What's your color, George? You okay?"

George just looks at Louis for a moment, because it seems like a ridiculous question. How could he be anything but greener than he's ever felt? Louis looks like he wants a response, though, so George says, slowly, "Green."

Louis strokes George's cheek with the knuckles of two fingers. "Good, love. D'you need anything before Harry fucks you? You've had a big two days."

He's had a really good two days, even with Sunday, even then. It's been amazing and George doesn't ever need anything but Harry and Louis and this.

He shakes his head and noses in to kiss the heel of Louis' thumb.

Harry's lips are on his tailbone, kissing him softly and then pressing his cheek against George's skin. He doesn't stay there very long, but it's long enough that George feels... Calmer. A little less in his own head.

"Just relax, love," Louis murmurs. "Let Harry take care of you."

Harry is kissing wet up George's spine and then back down, and he doesn't stop at George's tailbone this time.

George's mouth drops open on a silent groan, and he lets Harry move him however he wants, pulling George's hips up.

He understands why Harry was so noisy about it when it was being done to him, because this really is _brilliant_ , and partially because it's the sort of thing you feel like you shouldn't be doing. Mouths don't go on bumholes, generally, that's what George has always thought.

Really, they should, though, or at least he's glad that Harry's is on his own and he doesn't care about anything else. Fuck 'supposed to.'

Harry's more practiced at it, obviously, than George was. It's not as – wet, maybe, and Harry's tongue is flicking in a rhythm, and George whines, his hips rocking.

Louis moves so that George can rest his head on Louis' thigh, face buried into Louis' skin, and never stops gently stroking through George's hair, keeping it out of his eyes.

Harry's fingers join his tongue after another minute, pressing carefully into where George is licked open and spit-slick.

George gasps and mouths against Louis' thigh.

"That's right, George," Louis promises softly. "Harry's going to fuck you so good. He's gonna take care of you."

They always take care of him. George loves it. He spreads his knees a little more and rocks back against Harry's fingers and the sloppy press of his tongue.

Louis keeps murmuring to him, but the words slur together into _nice_ and _wanted_ for George, the sentences no longer mattering. Louis wants him and says he's good; Harry's sliding three fingers in deep and doesn't mind George rocking back to ride against Harry's face, his cock already hard again and shiny at the tip.

"Gonna come inside," Harry huffs out, pushing his lips against George's hip and then positioning himself where he needs to be. "Make you messy."

George hisses at that, nodding desperately into their touch.

Harry pushes forward slowly, steadily, his cock so much larger than his fingers but so good and so thick. George has missed it.

He hasn't been fucked in – well, not _really_ ages, but it feels like ages since he's had a good dick in him and even longer since he's been able to get fucked while he's under and hazy and nothing, nothing, nothing in the world is as good as this.

His throat is fuzzy still but it doesn't matter as much, not with Harry's cock fucking whimpers and whines and moans out of him.

Louis touches his fingertips to George's neck lightly. "Careful, love. Can you be quiet for me again?"

George swallows the next noise he wants to make, and pants instead, his breath coming harshly. He can. He can do anything.

"So good, George," Louis whispers at the same time Harry growls it. Harry doesn't take it easy on George, either, fucking into him with enough force that he keeps getting shoved up the mattress a bit, the heavy wooden headboard shaking.

This is exactly what he wanted. He feels so owned, so claimed, so possessed.

"Hey," Louis murmurs, getting George's attention with the singular candle glow that only Louis has for him. "I want you to bite me, George, give me a mark."

Louis' arm is the closest thing so George pulls it closer, biting down on Louis' forearm because _biting biting biting good biting_ is so nice and fun and lovely.

It's the first time he's been allowed to leave a mark on Louis. He wants to make it a good one, be perfect.

There's a smear of come on Louis' arm and George doesn't know whether it's Louis' or his own, but it doesn't matter.

He licks it up and then returns to his lovebite, making it as dark as he can. He wants it to be good. He wants Louis to have it for days.

Louis laughs delightedly even as he says, "Ouch, love! That'll be darker than Harry's tattoos."

Good, that's what George wants. He wants to be able to look over at Louis and see this and know that he gave it to him.

Louis carefully extricates his arm and smooths his hand down the length of George's back to touch carefully around his stretched rim and feel where Harry is pushing into George.

It's a lot, when Harry's fucking into him and Louis' fingers are right there. George almost wants him to just press it in, wants to feel as full as he can.

Louis teases his way around the edge. "Color, George?"

"Mmm," says George. That's not a color, but it's how he feels.

As Harry retreats, Louis' fingertip just barely breaches its way inside. " _Color_ , Georgie."

"Green," George sighs, his hips hitching backwards. "Really green. Promise."

Louis kisses George's shaking shoulder. "Say your color whenever you need, love. Deep breaths, relax."

George inhales, deeply, and then breathes out. Relaxed. He is, he's relaxed.

He hides a choked whimper when Louis' slim finger slides in to the second knuckle and he arches his back into it, letting them in. It's what he wants, and they're giving it to him, and that could make him cry; it's welling up in his chest and all the white-gold fog in his head is going blush-purple silver because it's so good, being good for them. He doesn't have to. He just wants to, and they let him.

"Good," says Louis, his voice tight and a little awed. "Good, good boy, George, so good."

He is, he knows he is, and it makes his heart trip-hammer: he's good because they love him, because they're all taking care of each other, because they love him and he loves them and he doesn't even have to _try_ anymore to be good for them. He just _is_.

He's so much better. He understands, abruptly; everyone has been telling him that he's _better_ and he hadn't understood what they meant but he thinks he does now. Because he's just better.

He comes so suddenly that he couldn't even warn them that it was going to happen, and his cock hasn't even been touched.

"Did you –?" Harry groans, and his forehead touches the back of George's neck, and he powers into him once, twice, three times.

Louis' hand is still trapped between their bodies, stroking at the inside of George, touching Harry at the same time.

Harry bites George's shoulder, and then his neck, and then his other shoulder, and George feels like he might legitimately pass out this time.

He buries his face in the blankets and they're damp; he bites the pillowcase because there's nothing else to anchor onto, nothing to hold.

"Go on, Hazza, there's a good boy, come," he hears Louis urge, low, and Harry chokes out a noise before he's pushing deep and staying there, coming inside George.

He pulls his cock out but Louis just slides another two fingers inside, and George whimpers desperately as something in the soft sunset glow that is his brain short-circuits at the dirty rightness of it.

His shoulders slump to the bed but his arse stays in the air for Louis, and he's having trouble breathing but in the nicest way.

Harry collapses on the mattress beside George, a brilliant grin on his face, and he leans closer, brushing fringe out of George's eyes before carefully easing the pillowcase out of George's mouth.

"Brilliant," he thinks Harry whispers. "God, look at you."

And then Harry is kissing him, sweet and beautiful.

He's still in the golden sticky fluffy place, where his thoughts come in wisps like candy floss, and Harry's kissing him so lovely, so perfect, so amazing.

"You're so good, George," Louis murmurs from somewhere so far away. "You're brilliant at taking Harry's cock, aren't you?"

George nods, because he's not sure yet if he's allowed to speak and also because he feels too spent to speak.

"You're so messy, Georgie," Louis says softly. "Shall we plug you up, keep you messy for tomorrow morning?"

Electricity shoots up George's spine, because he would like that very much, to keep Harry inside him as long as possible if he can't actually keep Harry inside.

"Harry?" Louis asks quietly, "Can you get it out of my luggage, love?"

"Yes," says Harry immediately, and there's a rustling as he slips off the bed, and pads across the floor. He's back soon, but George misses his warmth the whole time.

He lets out one little whimper as Louis eases his wet fingers free and gently slides the plug into place inside George. It's a better fit, he thinks, than the one he owns – or else he's so stretched now from taking Harry's dick and Louis' fingers that everything feels different.

He wouldn't be surprised by that. Everything _does_ feel a little different, but not just in his bum. He feels more aware, of himself, of everything.

Louis gives George's bumcheek a kiss after he's finished and that makes George hiccup a teary-eyed, misty giggle.

"How are you, sweetheart?" asks Harry. He rubs George's side, slow and easy. "Not too much?"

George blinks at Harry and arches a little into his touch.

Harry's hand moves, then, to knuckle under George's eye where it's damp with tears. The smile he's giving George is tender and sweet and George loves it.

"Love you, Georgie," Harry whispers. He leans down to kiss the side of George's face. Harry hesitates for a moment and asks, "Can you tell me your color?"

"Perfect," blurts George. Also not a color. He's usually better than this.

Harry smiles into George's soft, damp hair. "Good enough for me."

And then Louis is on George's other side, pressed close and this, between them like he wants, feels so good George never wants to leave New York.

Louis kisses the back of George's neck. "So perfect, George. Can I clean you up a little?"

George clears his throat enough that he can say something intelligible. "Yes," he murmurs. He does feel a bit gross, and he just took a shower, and he's full of come, but his skin feels grimy and he doesn't like it.

Louis kisses the back of his neck again. "Rest your poor throat, George. Talk if you need, but you can always nod or shake your head."

Nodding, George presses back against Louis, and tips his head so that he can kiss Louis' cheek. It seems a little quirky, when they've just had loads of filthy sex, but it feels right.

Louis grins at him and tweaks his fringe. "I'll be right back, love. Cuddle Harry."

That is something George can definitely do, and he curls himself into Harry promptly, nuzzling his face against Harry's chest until Harry pets his head.

Harry wraps his arms around George and rolls over to pull him up to splay out atop him, George's cheek pressed to Harry's chest over his tattoos.

It's very comfortable, and George hums happily, closing his eyes and wriggling. He's warm, and he's safe.

And then Louis is back, murmuring praise for every part of George as he rubs it over with a warm, wet flannel.

George moves when Louis coaxes him to, but otherwise, his brain's fairly well shut off for the night. He hopes that's alright. He's not sure how to turn it back on when he feels like this.

"So pretty like this," Louis murmurs. He kisses George's fingers and rests his arm back down to rest on Harry's side. "Obedient little monkey."

"M'mnk," mumbles George, but it hurts a bit, so he doesn't talk anymore. He just rests his head and listens to the faint sound of Harry's heartbeat, lets his fingers splay on Louis' chest.

"Harry," Louis says conversationally, lifting George a little to wipe up the messes of come on his belly, "What shall we do tomorrow?"

"Loads to do, innit," Harry replies. He sounds tired, too, and rolls his head to the side to look at Louis. "New York and that." He pauses, and then says, sounding more alert, " _Oh_. Oh? Tomorrow, you think?"

"Good a time as any," Louis says. He ruffles George's hair. "D'you want to sightsee with us tomorrow, Georgie? We'll be proper touristy."

George hums agreeably. He doesn't know how they'll do that with nobody noticing, considering two thirds of them are proper famous, and everyone knows they're here, but sightseeing sounds lovely.

"Aimee showed me how to get around," Harry says. "We'll have a good time. Take you on a proper date, George."

George feels like flying or shouting or something. Proper date. They want to take him on a proper date. In New York. With them. Them and George. On a date.

He shows his excitement the only way he still has the energy:

"Lou! He bit me again!"

"He's always biting." Louis sounds absurdly fond. "I think that means he likes it, though. Doesn't it, Georgie?"

George nods, delighted, and giggles through his wrecked throat.

"Oof," Louis says. "That almost sounded like a manly laugh. D'you need some water, George?"

Water sounds lovely, but now that George has both of them right where he wants them, he doesn't want them to leave. At all. Ever. He shakes his head, snuggling into Harry some more.

"Don't be silly, Georgie, I'll be right back." Louis leans down and kisses the side of George's face, close to his eye. "Love you."

George has to smile, then, and he reaches out to tap a pattern against Louis' arm that he hopes Louis understands means _love you, too_.

"Cute." Louis gets up and pads away. George watches his bum as he goes, because it's a very lovely bum.

"It is nice, isn't it?" Harry whispers to him. "It's almost as fun to pinch as it is to fuck. He goes all squealy."

George stifles another raspy giggle at that and tucks his face into the warm, untattooed space beneath Harry's chin.

Harry hums. George can feel the vibrations of it against him and it makes him smile, pressing his nose to Harry's jaw.

"Did you like the show tonight, George?" Harry asks softly. "I could feel you watching, I think. It was like the opposite from usual."

George nods, his hair brushing against Harry's chin. One Direction are amazing at putting on a show. George hadn't been able to pull his eyes away, even if he'd wanted to.

"I don't know how you managed it," Harry confides quietly. "Performing, and knowing we were watching. I was so nervous to do a good job for you."

George tips his head up to give Harry a pointed look. In the past, he's been pretty clearly not managing it when they watched him perform. He had breakdowns aplenty.

"That was just once," Harry says. He kisses George's forehead. "And that _wasn't your fault_. That was our fault for not explaining, and assuming too much."

George makes a noncommittal noise. He'd beg to differ, except he can't speak, and Harry likely wouldn't agree anyway.

And anyway, he's better now. They're all better now, he thinks.

He gives Harry a kiss on his chest, because that's where his mouth is, and jumps when the bed dips again with Louis' return.

"Sit up," Louis urges, and Harry does, bringing George with him.

George doesn't want to be sitting up, he wants to be sleeping. But water does sound awfully good, and his throat's dry, so maybe it's not a bad idea.

Louis hands him a glass, and seems to have found a kettle to make tea for himself in the meantime.

"Hey," says Harry, shuffling closer to Louis. "Can I have some?"

"No," Louis says easily. "Get your own. You have a George, I have a tea."

"But I'm thirsty," Harry whines, giving Louis puppy eyes. "Please? I don't want much, just a bit..."

He gives Louis big googly eyes and it makes George giggle happily into his drink, because he loves them together. He loves them on their own, too, but he does really love them together.

"You _say_ just a bit, but all of a sudden I'll have an empty cup and you'll be full of tea. I know all your tricks, Styles." Louis takes a long drink of tea, keeping an eye on Harry.

Harry pouts out his lower lip and he looks so sad, and his lip so plush, that George has to tilt up a little to nip it with his teeth.

"So bitey today!" exclaims Harry, his fingers digging into George's ribs for a tickle. "Louis, I need tea if I'm being bitten."

"Fine," Louis sighs. "One sip."

Harry drains the cup.

"I told you!" Louis yelps when he gets his cup back. "I _told_ you, you're a menace to society!"

George just keeps giggling, tucked in between them, the plug in his bum moving deliciously with his giggling wriggles, and he's just.

Probably, probably definitely, never been so happy.

He wakes up still happy the next morning, after Louis had pressed insistent kisses to Harry's lips to lick the taste of tea from his mouth, and then they'd snuggled down with George to trade kisses with him as well until they all fell asleep. 

The sun is coming through the window bright and happy like George is, and he smiles as he opens his eyes.

He's hard, because he's always hard in the morning, but this morning, he's hard and there's still a plug in his bum and someone's mouth is on his cock.

It's a nice mouth, and it must be Harry or Louis because he doesn't think they'd let anyone else in their bed to suck George's cock. Is fairly positive of that, at least, so he stretches his arms above his head and leaves them resting there as he sighs.

Louis rolls over and looks at George through one bleary eye. He glances down at the lump under the sheet. "Don't thrust up," he mutters. "He'll gag on you. And be quiet. 'M sleepin'."

George laughs, threading his hands into his hair to keep them from going to Harry's head, like he wants them to. He does his best to keep his hips down. He knows how Harry doesn't like to gag.

Harry doesn't go down on him often, either, and he wants to keep it. He likes this morning already, the haziness of it, like he's slept right through the night in his cloud of goldenblush fog.

He does wish he could see Harry, see his mouth. Harry has an excellent mouth in all respects and George can only imagine that the sight of it wrapped around his cock would make him come instantly. Maybe it's good, then, that there's a sheet in the way.

George startles a little and has to really focus not to let his hips jump as, unseen, Harry starts tapping at the base of the plug. It's almost like being blindfolded while still seeing – everything but Harry.

The taps send waves of pleasure up through him, and it's so hard to keep still when it's happening. He does twitch a bit but Harry doesn't choke.

It's exciting, not knowing what Harry will do, and that's a bit of a first for George. Normally it makes him panicky when he can't see the other person, and doesn't know what they're going to do to him. 

He doesn't have to worry about that with Harry, or Louis, either.

He knows that Harry's not going to do anything he won't like. He knows that Harry just wants to make him feel good.

He knows that Harry loves him.

George bites his lip because Harry is tapping the plug steadily now, and sucking him down, and it's hard not to think about what he must look like. George knows how Harry looks in the morning, with rumpled hair and his lips pink and a flush on his cheeks from the warmth of the bed.

His cock spits out a warning and Harry pulls back to flick at it with the softness of his tongue and then – George can't help it – 

The sheets rip back and Harry emerges, looking a little contemptuous, come all over his face. One of his green eyes is crinkled shut.

"Sorry," George croaks, and then winces. He was right, his throat's dodgier today than it was yesterday.

Harry frowns, but it's only to hide a smile. "Considering the state of you today, I guess we're even on blowjob indignities for the week now."

George gets a finger through the mess on Harry's face and sucks it off, because he's happy and it's morning and he's with Harry and Louis and he _doesn't have to leave soon_.

Harry seems to have the same idea, and just crawls up the bed to cage George in with his arms. "G'morning."

"Morning," says George. He knows he shouldn't be talking, probably, but he wants to be able to say good morning to Harry and know he doesn't also have to say goodbye.

"Oh, sweetheart," Harry murmurs. He leans down and kisses George's neck gently. "How are you feeling?"

George hums, and tilts his head back. "Really, really, really good," he whispers. "Really good. Like, the best ever."

Harry smiles and kisses George's cheek. From through the window, horns are already blaring. "Good."

He tickles George's waist. "D'you want to get up with me and go find some breakfast?"

"Breakfast," George agrees. He is a bit hungry, his giant milkshake from last night all digested and everything. He could do breakfast.

Harry pauses and looks over to the lump that is Louis. "Lou – plug in or out?"

A hand reaches out from the lump of blanket that is Louis to pet George's hip. "Sitting or standing?" he mutters.

"Walking," Harry says. "Then sitting, I'd guess."

"Mm." The Louis-Lump shuffles over, coming to a rest closer to George. "Take it out. We can try... later, leaving it in longer."

George nods at that. 

"Alright, Georgie," Harry says. "Let's get in the shower then and take your plug out and wash your hair 'cause there's dried spunk in it. And in mine now. Thanks."

"Welcome," George snort-giggles, and that hurts as well.

"Sweetheart," Harry croons. Then he sweeps George out of bed, bridal-style, and carries him to the massive shower.

George laughs the whole way, in quiet, creaky snickers so that he doesn't hurt his throat more. He clings around Harry's neck and kisses his cheeks and his nose and his lips. He's just so _happy_.

He even licks the rest of his come off Harry's cheek.

And then Harry licks into his mouth, licks the taste of George off of his tongue. He bites George's lip lightly, probably to make up for the millions of times George has bit him since he got here.

They shower fairly perfunctorily, flicking suds at each other, until Harry kneels to ease the plug out of George.

Eventually, George has to lean against the wall of the shower, because his legs won't hold him up anymore. _What is it_ , he wonders, _about buttplugs that makes them feel so much bigger coming out than when they went in_?

"Shhh," Harry murmurs. "You're alright. Just tightened back up. That's good."

George whines softly, widening his stance and breathing in hard when the plug pops out with a quiet sound.

Harry kisses and licks in for a moment to apologize. "Y'alright?"

"Yeah," George sighs. He feels a bit empty and a bit gross, inside, but he is alright.

Harry shows him how to clean up, and it should be embarrassing, but it isn't, really, even though he wants so badly to always impress Harry that it's a little painful knot in his chest, usually.

Harry's always really good about stuff like that, though. When George feels his face go red, Harry cracks a really stupid joke, and George has to laugh.

He likes Harry. He loves him, and he likes him.

"There we are," says Harry once they're done. "All clean again. We do tend to get you dirty more often than we get you clean, don't we?"

George nods. He presses his hand to his throat and croaks, "S'alright. Like it."

"Shh," Harry replies, his own fingers tickling beneath George's chin. "Rest your voice. I like it when you can make sounds."

George wiggles his eyebrows suggestively at Harry.

Harry just laughs at him, and kisses his head. "Those sounds, too."

They dress – George has to borrow more of Harry's clothes, which he likes, but thinks that after a week, he'll be glad to get back to his striped shirt and his Aztec pattern shirt – and Harry gives George a beanie to wear over his hair and a pair of sunglasses.

"Should I take a newspaper with me to hold in front of my face?" he cracks. "I feel like an actual popstar in this getup."

Harry laughs. "No, I think _two_ Harry Styleses walking together will actually be sufficient to convince people that neither of us is Harry Styles."

"I don't really look like you," George says. He pauses. "I look like Aiden. A bit."

Harry leans back and gives George's face a frowny look over. "I s'pose, a bit," he says cautiously. "Sort of."

Leaning in to kiss Harry's cheek, George says, "It's alright."

"It wasn't on purpose," Harry says. He wraps his hand around George's wrist to press the beads of his collar against his skin. "I didn't even notice until now."

"I know. I believe you." George gives him a short cuddle. "I don't look anything like Nick Grimshaw."

"No, you don't," Harry agrees. "Your hair is not so voluminous."

"I don't think my face is quite as large, either." George doesn't think that's an insult, noticing that Nick's got rather a lot of face. "And I'm a bit younger."

"You are that," Harry agrees. "Louis couldn't believe you're older than me, at first. He kept forgetting."

"I know. I saw that interview," George says dryly. "I commented on it, by accident. But I deleted straight away."

"I can't believe it sometimes, either," Harry admits. "Not because, like, not that I think you're really immature or anything. Obviously. Just, I forget."

"I do, too, a bit," George says. "Just 'cause, like, you've... lived more?"

Harry shrugs. "Different ways to live, aren't there? It is a bit, like, I've done what you're doing now."

George smiles a little and lets the back of his hand brush up against Harry's as Harry pushes open their hotel door. "I hope I get to do what you are, now."

"I really think you will, you know," Harry says back, his other hand shoved into his pocket. "I'm not just being kind, or whatever. I really think you four have something."

George beams. "Thanks."

"You did let them know you're alright and you're in New York?" Harry clarifies.

"I rang Jaymi," George confirms. "I should text them all, actually."

"Do that now, if you've got your phone," Harry instructs. "They'll be glad to hear directly from you even if Jaymi's told them already."

George nods and fishes around in the deep pockets of his borrowed jeans for his mobile. He frowns at it. "I need a charger later, I think."

"What sort of charger?" asks Harry, giving it a look. "I think among the five of us we've got about seventy different phone chargers."

"iPhone?"

"I'll bum Liam's off him later," Harry says with a nod, nudging George's shoulder. "No worries, we'll get you sorted out."

George smiles. They always do, don't they, although he feels a little guilty sponging off Liam.

"What are you in the mood for, for breakfast?" asks Harry. "We're in New York, so you can say basically anything."

George swallows gingerly. "Something soft."

"Something like eggs, then, maybe. Or pancakes. Or waffles, love a good waffle." Harry ponders for a moment. "There are a lot of soft breakfast foods."

George nods. "It's for people who wake up like me."

"I don't think _breakfast_ was invented to appease lovely little cocksuckers, George," Harry says. "Honestly, you're a silly monkey."

"It could've been," sulks George. "You don't know, in all your Harry Styles wisdom. Maybe whoever came up with breakfast really liked sucking cock."

"Who doesn't?" Harry asks. "I can't even do it properly and I love it."

"You can _definitely_ do it properly," says George emphatically. "Like, yeah, you really can."

"Not like you," Harry murmurs, and it's low and rough and secret enough that George didn't think people could even sound so sexual at half-seven in the morning.

It does make him really want to suck Harry's cock again. Probably like anyone who's ever heard his voice.

Harry's eyes twinkle like he knows it.

"I can't wait until my throat stops hurting," mumbles George, biting his lip.

Harry smolders – actually smolders – at George. "There's plenty you can still do, and will later, I'm sure."

George sucks on his lip, and does the only move he has back at Harry – he looks down, then looks back up at Harry through his eyelashes and blinks slowly.

Harry laughs delightedly and shakes his head. "Get over here, you, and hold my hand."

Well, George doesn't have to be told twice. He grasps Harry's hand, fitting his fingers between Harry's and smiling because it feels nice, to do this. He hasn't done this in a while, walking and holding hands.

Not since Ella left, and that was different, anyway.

He can't even remember the last time he held someone's hand while they were walking and it _meant_ something, and it was somebody he's _sleeping with_.

Maybe never. Maybe Parisa, but maybe never. Not like this, anyway.

He leans his head onto Harry's shoulder for a second, just for a moment, just to see how it feels.

Harry smiles softly down at him. "Hey, you."

"Hi." George squeezes his hand. He feels giddily pleased that this is a thing they're doing. "I – hi." He can feel a giggle wanting to explode from him but he forces it down.

Harry squeezes his hand back. "I know. It's nice having someone else awake this early who wants to hold my hand. I can the bodyguards to do it sometimes, but I usually have to pretend to feel endangered."

George kisses his shoulder. "You never do it with, like... anyone else?"

"Have you met Louis?" Harry asks. "He never wakes up early enough to walk around in public with me."

"That's true," George agrees, and he tightens his grip on Harry's hand. It just makes him a bit sad, to think of Harry wanting to hold someone's hand and not being able to.

Harry squeezes his hand back. "I'd hold Nick's if I didn't think Louis would murder someone. Probably Nick, but maybe me."

George laughs, quietly, under his breath because he's not sure if he's supposed to. "He doesn't seem much the handholding type, if I'm honest," he replies. "Don't know him that well, though."

"Well, he's not," Harry says glumly. "But I asked, I bet he would."

"I bet he would," agrees George. He can't help but think about what Niall said, about how Aiden liked Louis better but Nick loves Harry. He doesn't want to think about it, because, because he just _doesn't_ , but it's in his head. "I like holding your hand."

Harry rubs his thumb across the back of George's hand.

It makes George smile and he ducks his head. "Really like it," he amends.

"Good," Harry says. He stops short in front of a small, square window framed in yellow industrial curtains and white blinds. "Look, breakfast. And coffee."

"Coffee," says George cheerily. That makes him want to skip, but he still has Harry's hand, so he doesn't.

Harry makes him eat an oatmeal, too, because it's soft enough for his throat.

It's good oatmeal, so George doesn't mind. Creamy and smooth and filling and warm, when it's so cold out.

They have unlimited refills on coffee, too, which George decides is his favorite thing about America.

He has three, and that's when Harry starts to look a bit like he wants to cut George off, or he'd have gladly had a fourth.

"Coffee," George croaks happily. "Did you have some?"

"Not as much as you, dear." Harry is eyeing him over his cup. "If you start twitching I'm going to be concerned."

"Need more than that," George assures him. "Ask Caroline! She saw."

"I will ask her, next time I see her." Harry narrows his eyes at George. "At least you've got food in you. All that on an empty stomach, I'd be bouncing off the walls."

"I've been drinking coffee all my life," says George solemnly. "I can handle my coffee."

Harry surveys George coolly over the top of his tea. "You're terrible at being British."

"Good thing we're not in Britain." George giggles to himself. He's not in Britain. He's in New York with a sore throat from getting his face fucked really hard.

Harry reaches across the table and gives George a pat on the head. "S'true, we're not. What d'you want to see while we're here?"

George shrugs. "I dunno. Anything, really. Normal tourist stuff? Statue of Liberty, Central Park. Times Square? I think there's a Graffiti Hall of Fame here."

"If Lou were here, he'd say that's my arm," Harry says grumpily, but his eyes are soft and his voice has his Louis Tone in it. It makes him sound in love. George wonders whether he sounds like that when he talks about Louis, or Harry.

He probably does. Maybe people look at him as fondly as he's looking at Harry right now. "Well, I wasn't going to say anything, but... It does look a bit like a wall in Camden."

"That's my urban roots," Harry says. "I chill with Tulisa, you know."

"And Louis Walsh. He's very urban." George smiles at the memory, though it wants to turn into a frown when he remembers that they were Louis' last act and let him down.

"I don't chill with him," Harry says. "He hates me. He's the only one who didn't say yes at my audition."

"But he also said you were going to be the next big boy band, like, every week," George points out. "So he had to like you a little bit."

"He loved Liam and Niall," Harry says dismissively. "I'm just lucky that I'm Simon's favorite. I don't know if he's learnt Zayn's name yet."

"Zayn is Jaymi's favorite," George remembers. "On his Free Three and everything. Jaymi's not a judge on the X Factor, though."

"No, and unless he also has Perrie as a square, I don't think he'll get his wish. They come as a boxed set. Salt and pepper, butter and Marmite, Zayn and Perrie."

"They're cute. Perrie talks about him a lot." George smiles. He likes Perrie, and from what he's seen of her with Zayn, they're very good together.

"When Zayn talks, it's usually about her," Harry agrees. "Or Frank Ocean or Yeezy or someone."

"She said something," George says slowly. He doesn't actually know if he wants to talk about this, but now he's started, so he might as well finish. "About, like. Distractions?"

"What about them?" Harry asks. He drags his waffle through a lake of syrup.

"She said that it's good to have them, when Zayn's off on tour, or whatever." George swallows. "She said something about having something else to pass the time."

"What, do you want to take up knitting?" Harry chews his waffle. "I can lend you some sticks and teach you to cast on while you're here."

"Yeah," George decides. He doesn't even know why he brought it up in the first place. "You know how to knit? You're literally someone's nan, aren't you?"

"Not Christopher Baloney's, if that's what you're asking." Harry gives him a big grin, and it makes George's stomach jump. It's definitely Harry, not the coffee. It's Harry and wanting – it's nice to get assurances, sometimes, is all.

"Well, no. I think Louis might've murdered you by now." George takes another drink of lukewarm coffee. Even if it's not hot, it's good enough that he doesn't care.

He hopes Costa keeps giving him free coffees now that he isn't on the X Factor.

He's still not so sure he won't have to go back to _working_ at Costa. Fourth place is better than no place, but it's certainly not first.

"Hey." Harry cups George's cheek across the table. "I want a happy Georgie. Why're you so down?"

"I am happy. I'm here." George gives him a big grin, and turns his head to kiss Harry's wrist. It's there and he feels like it.

Harry sighs softly. "It's still early. Louis'll want to sleep for ages yet, and he'll bite if we wake him. And not in a nice way." He pauses. "D'you want to come with me and see me get a tattoo?"

George sits up straight in his seat. "Can I?" They'd mentioned it, but George forgot in the midst of all the everything. "Really?"

"Yeah, 'course," Harry says. "If we'd brought the kit, I'd let you draw one on me."

Somehow, George doesn't find it at all surprising that that is a thing Harry's done. "Maybe another time, then." He smiles. "Yeah, I'd really like to. Watch, that is."

Harry's smile turns a little dirty at that. "I know you like that."

"I do." George tilts his head, giving Harry a smile of his own. "I always like watching."

Harry scoots a little closer and his knee, beneath the table, brushes along the inside of George's thigh. "Why don't you like getting watched, then?"

"I do when it's you," George whispers. "Promise."

"I like watching you," Harry admits. "All the time, I like it. Sometimes when you're not paying attention you show all your emotions on your face, and it's one of my favorite things about you."

George blushes to the tips of his ears.

"I like watching when that happens, too." Harry tweaks his chin. "When you go all red. You're frightfully fun to say things to."

"You'd think I'd stop blushing at hearing sexy things after like, having pretty frequent sex with two people at once."

"But you haven't," sings Harry under his breath, "and I love it."

George smiles at him. "I love you." He pauses. "I'm not – I don't need distractions, you know. Although knitting sounds a bit nice. Relaxing, like. But I mean, I'm not – I don't – "

"Hey." Harry puts a hand over George's on the table between them. "I know. And Lou knows. And if you did, that'd be alright, too. We'd just need to talk about it a bit. But you've made it really clear that, like, basically, you've made it pretty clear that we're it for you." He shrugs.

George looks up into Harry's eyes, because he thinks Harry needs to know – "Nick and Aiden offered. I don't know if they told you."

"Nick mentioned, yeah." Harry gives him a small smile. "But he also says he's tried it on with you about a million times and you always say no."

George can't help looking a little smug at that. "It's true. But he's never sent in Aiden before."

"Nick doesn't give up easily." There's something weird about how Harry's not more concerned that one of his (best friends? ex-lovers? George still isn't sure what Nick is, in the grand scheme of things) keeps trying to get George to sleep with him.

Harry cups a hand over the back of George's neck and draws him forward so Harry can kiss George's forehead. "Neither do I."

Well, that's good, that Harry's not planning on, like, giving George to Nick as a birthday present or something. "I'm not a weird competition for you two, am I? That would not make me happy."

Harry shakes his head. "That's him and Louis, not him and me. And I don't think they're fighting over you, either."

"Good," mumbles George. He wouldn't like being fought over. That doesn't sound nice at all, and anyway, there'd be no point since he's Harry- and Louis'.

Harry grins reassuringly at George. "You'll be too busy to need distractions, anyway." He stands up and shuffles some bills onto the table. "I do, though, and I choose tattoos. Come on?"

"Yeah!" George perks up, drains the rest of his coffee, and stands. "Do you know what you're getting or are you going to see what sort of wildlife we come across on the way there?"

Harry's brow furrows. "Heyyy."

"Only joking. There aren't even swallows anywhere near New York, probably."

"No, but there might be perfectly nice pigeons." Harry tickles George's ribs as they shove out of the door. "Is that what you meant?"

"I guess you could get a pigeon tattooed on," George replies, laughter in his voice while he bats at Harry's hand. "Are you going for a bird motif?"

Harry shrugs. "I don't want a motif. I want to look at every tattoo I get and have to think about where I was and who I was with when I got it because otherwise it won't make sense."

"Oh." George feels a bit bad for making fun. "Well, that's a good reason to get a tattoo, isn't it?"

Harry beams. "Isn't it?"

"Yeah. I like that." He pauses. "I haven't ever wanted a tattoo before. Haven't really cared about anything enough to want it on me permanently." He thinks about everything that's happened, his band and the X Factor and how many things and people he has now to call his own.

"I was afraid they'd hurt," Harry admits. "They do, a bit. But I like it. And you love things that hurt."

"I do." George ponders that. "I don't really like needle-hurt, though. Bruisey hurt, I like."

Humming thoughtfully, Harry reaches down to tangle their fingers together again. "Well, see what you think. Your band all have tattoos, don't they?"

"Jaymi and JJ do," George says. "Josh doesn't, but he does have a pierced dick."

"He does _not_!" Harry exclaims, and the way he reflexively twists makes George think of someone about to be hit in a terrible place by a dodgeball. "How? That, I couldn't do, ever."

George shrugs. "I couldn't, either, and I always wonder how it heals without getting infected. But he has one. I could ask, but it's like – I think we're just never talking about that I've seen his dick. Josh, I mean."

"Ah," Harry says. "Yeah, might get a bit. Awkward. I've seen all my band's dicks, though. We talk about them all the time. Not _all_ the time, that sounds a bit weird."

George looks at his feet. There's an empty soda can on the sidewalk and he kicks it aimlessly just to see it skitter into the street. "You haven't sat on all your bandmates' dicks, though, I'm guessing."

Harry is very quiet as they pace up the block. They turn a corner and suddenly all of the storefront signs are in Korean. Only in New York. And Korea, probably. "You haven't ever really told us about that."

"Is it important?" George shrugs a shoulder, trying not to tense up. It's _not_ important, is the thing, so he doesn't have a reason to tense up.

"I don't know," Harry says honestly. He squeezes George's hand. "Louis would know, I think. Nick would, even. They're, like. Well, you know what they're like."

"I do know what they're like," says George. Bossy, yes, and territorial, and possessive, and they know what they're doing most of the time, and sometimes Harry doesn't. But he doesn't pretend he does, either.

He likes that about Harry. He doesn't assume things, and in George's life experience, people who don't make assumptions are a very rare creatures.

"I would tell you," George murmurs. "If you did think it was important, I would." He hopes Harry understands what he's not saying, there.

Harry squeezes George's hand and steers him around a corner, and then like magic, the signs are in Italian and English and something that looks like Cyrillic again. "You're important, though."

George smiles. Harry makes him feel important, even if he isn't. "Thank you."

"You are," Harry says. "Even if I never got to fuck you again, I'd say you're important. I think you helped Louis, you know. And he'd never say it, but he needed it. Having a you, again, since it – since I can't be what you are, really. Not all the time."

George thinks that's true, about Louis. Maybe George could've been somebody else, another person who could've been submissive for them, someone who could've helped Louis figure out himself, but it wasn't. It wasn't somebody else, it was George.

"I'm glad you don't have to be," he says softly. "What I am all the time, I mean."

Harry frowns just enough to pout his lip. "D'you not like it?"

"No, I love it," George says. "But you don't."

"That's not it," Harry replies, and his eyebrows pull together a little more. It seems more like an automatic reaction than anything else.

George rubs his cheek against Harry's arm. "Then what is it?"

"I like being able to get out of my head," says Harry slowly. "I just... I just don't like not being able to get back in."

George rests his own head against Harry's shoulder as they walk. "Your head must be a nice place to be."

He can feel Harry's laughter. "It's alright, I guess. Better when I can think, sometimes."

"I like not thinking," George says broadly. "It's always nice."

"Maybe you're right, then," Harry murmurs. "Sometimes for me it's less of a way to escape, more like being trapped. Has," he clears his throat, "Has Louis said that he told you, about how I was down for sort of a while?"

George nods. "He didn't tell you?"

"He said it private, what you two talked about that night," Harry says. "I didn't push. You can always talk to one of us just, like, the one of us, you know. We're not the same person."

"I know that," George responds. It's still good to hear, that he can say things and if he asks, that can just be the end of it. "Er, yeah, he did tell me."

Harry looks around at the next corner before deciding on a seemingly random route. They pass four yogurt shops in a row, including one that isn't even frozen yogurt – it's just... yogurt-yogurt. 

"I like having my own house," Harry says, "Even if I don't often like being alone in it."

"You never are, if it's haunted," George points out.

"Yeah, but the ghosts don't bother me much. Mostly they just rattle and creak floorboards and steal my good jam." Harry frowns. "Not quite sure if that's the ghosts or Niall, though."

George giggles. It still hurts his throat, reminds him that inside it's red and raw, but it's a good ache. He wants to bottle it for when he's alone and needs a reminder like this.

"Anyway," Harry continues, "I just mean that it's another thing that makes us different. I didn't like being under so long, it made me feel slow and useless and, and that doesn't really happen for you. I think we could probably keep you under all the time and you'd be right as rain."

George blushes again. "It doesn't make me feel useless. It makes me feel... I dunno, use _ful_ , really."

"Me, too, if it's not for a long time." Harry shrugs a little. "I don't know. Never really looked into it. I like being under a lot, and letting Louis take care of me, but after a while I want to take care of me, too."

Harry brightens and points across the street. "Look, 'Body Mod, 24-hour.'"

They jog across once a truck roars its way down the road, and then, ducking under Harry's arm so he doesn't have to look at his face, George says, "I'm not good at taking care of me."

Harry curls his arm around George's shoulders, presses his mouth to his temple, and quietly says, "You're better at it than you think you are."

George smiles to himself as Harry flashes some cash and makes things start to happen.

It must be nice to be a popstar, able to just go in and get a tattoo whenever you please. George wonders if Harry's ever had to make an appointment.

Harry smiles at George over his shoulder. "Coming back with me?"

"Am I allowed? Aren't there, like, hygiene things?" asks George. He's already following Harry, though. It's not much of a watch if he can't see him.

"It's not like you're going to lick the guns," Harry says.

That's very true, George hadn't planned anything of the sort. He settles on a chair next to the one Harry's set up in as Harry pulls up a picture on his phone to show the artist.

Harry unzips his jeans and pushes them down to his knees, exposing the pale skin of his thighs. "I was thinking here?"

George licks his lips. He can't help it; it's an automatic reaction to seeing so much of Harry's skin at once. The tattoo artist examines Harry carefully and then nods, asking him about colors and sizes and loads of things George doesn't even understand but Harry does.

While the artist goes off to sketch a stencil, whatever that means, Harry holds out his hands to George. "Come here, you."

That's enough of an invitation for George. He scoots his chair closer and sits on the edge of Harry's, grabbing his hands. Double handholding. Hardcore.

Harry laughs quietly. "You look... victorious."

"Holding both of Harry Styles' hands, aren't I?" George asks, squeezing them. "Every person over the age of six's dream."

"Some under six," Harry says. "It's good that I'm quite broody, really, as my hair is quite an attraction for Lux and such."

"You're like a giant baby toy," George notes. "You've got enough hair for probably twelve babies to play with."

Harry just smirks. "You're one to talk."

"It's not an accident," George says. "I have eight younger siblings."

"Eight!" Harry exclaims. "Did I ever know that about you?"

"I'm sure I must have mentioned it," replies George thoughtfully. "Yeah, my younger ones pull on mine all the time."

"I don't know that you did," Harry muses. "Tell me about your life, Georgie, and it'll distract me from getting my thigh shaved and tattooed."

"Didn't have much of one before all this." George shrugs. "I've got eight siblings, I've worked in a lot of coffee shops. I was really fat and got bullied a lot so I transferred schools constantly."

Harry squeezes his hands. "But that's not it. Tell me more about you, how'd you get into music?"

"It was after – bullies broke my wrists," George says in a quiet rush. "And I needed some sort of activity after, and my mum said that playing Pokemon didn't count, so my grandad bought me a guitar. That's it, really."

"Why'd you try out for the show?" Harry asks. His voice has got quieter, too.

"Erm, it's a bit generic," George says. "I was in a band, but my – Parisa, was in another band, also, and she thought the other band was better, so she went to try out with them as a girl group and I'd already turned in an application, so I still tried out. Also, I thought, like, if GMD3 – District 3 – could do it, then I had to do it, too. Also Parisa had been on some Disney competition a few years ago and got a load of free stuff, so I thought I might get some free stuff."

"Did you get any free stuff?" asks Harry, his eyes dancing. "Or was it all for nothing?"

"I got a monkey onesie," George says. "A few, actually. And loads of bananas from fans."

"Well, I'd say that's a job well done." Harry shuffles around and George has to move back to his chair when the tattoo artist comes back.

It's both interesting and boring watching Harry get tattooed.

He gets shaved and prepped and he looks really lovely with his legs all splayed. George holds his hand and watches the tattoo artist concentrate, and he watches Harry's face go tense and then relax, and then again.

It reminds him a little of seeing Louis and Harry together, the pink flush on Harry's face and neck and the open blackness of his eyes.

Harry seems to like getting tattoos an awful lot, so maybe it's not as bad as George thought it would be. The needle's still intimidating but if he didn't have to watch...

Harry huffs out a soft sigh, biting his lip.

George glances a little anxiously down to Harry's lap, where the tattoo is being etched into his thigh, and he sits up a little higher with a red blush on his own face because he – Harry is hard, and he can't imagine how embarrassing it must be, but Harry doesn't even look like he minds.

Like, the tattoo artist is _right there_ , so it's not like Harry can be thinking they didn't notice, but he's not blushing at all, just a hint of a flush at the tops of his cheeks.

Maybe it's normal, for people getting tattoos. Or maybe Harry is weird, which George privately thinks is more likely.

He remembers that while he's not into anything like, like that, he and Harry are definitely different, and it's possible Harry's into things like that. Likely. Probably into things like that. It would at least explain why he's got so many of them.

He wonders, fleetingly, whether Jaymi _likes_ tattoos, too. He has nearly as many, maybe.

He might ask, if he can get up the nerve to. Jaymi would probably tell him.

Maybe he'd like a tattoo. Probably not, but if it's just like a permanent bruise, maybe he would.

He'll think about it later, when he's got more than one free hand and Harry's not getting tattooed and he can talk to him about it.

It doesn't actually take very long for the artist to finish.

Harry makes a quiet noise in the back of his throat and blinks, slowly, moving in his seat. "Finished?" he asks, voice gone a bit croaky.

"Just gonna bandage it," the artist says. "You want your boyfriend to see it first?"

George feels like his feet have fallen off, but Harry just smiles, and tips his head back to look at George.

"D'you wanna see, love?"

There is nothing about Harry that George doesn't want to see. New tattoos, old tattoos, faint lines of childhood scars, dark cracks of grown-up worries, skin and bone and heart. George wants it all.

"Yes, please," he requests, and Harry moves his leg to sling it over the arm of the chair nearest George.

It's... small. Black lines, like the rest of Harry's tattoos.

George recognizes the design because everyone would. They're little lovehearts, like the ones that come in a box on Valentine's Day and say quirky things on them.

There are three in a row, each a little different.

Not so different that they stop looking like lovehearts, but a little bit different from each other all the same. "I like them," George murmurs.

"You, like, get it, right?" Harry asks, a little nervously.

"Get it?" George asks blankly. Now he feels a bit stupid, because obviously there's something he's supposed to get, but he hasn't.

Harry coughs quietly. "They're, um. They're sweet-hearts. Sweethearts?"

George feels a bit like he's been punched in the chest, except without all of the unpleasantness and excruciating pain.

There's a load of not-quite-breathing and a little bit of shock because nobody's ever expecting to get punched in the chest, and he can't feel all of his bones.

Harry's hand is soft as it weaves into George's hair beneath his beanie. "Y'alright, Georgie?"

"I'm not, like," says George, his throat constricting a little. "I'm not, you did just –" He breathes in deeply, "– For me?"

"Well, yeah," Harry said. "I told you, I like to know when I look at my tattoos who I was with when I got them."

"Yeah, but I didn't think you meant _me_." George has to remind himself to breathe again. "Like, that's me."

"Yeah." Harry sounds amused. "That one's you – and that's Lou – and that's me."

"They're sweet hearts." It's muffled, because George is biting his hand. "On you _forever_."

"Yeah," Harry repeats. "Come here, stop biting yourself."

George tugs at the neckline of Harry's t-shirt with his teeth instead.

"You know what you mean to me," Harry says, rubbing George's back and tucking his head close. "My very own sweetheart."

George squeaks and mutters high-pitched, quick words into Harry's neck.

"Hey, hey, hey," Harry whispers. "I know, alright? I know."

This is new for George, though, because he's never had – but he's also never been under like this in public, and in the morning, and with only Harry, and it's just a lot.

"We should get back to the hotel, shouldn't we?" Harry says to him, plucking George's beanie from his head and ruffling his hair a little. "See if Louis' awake. Might be by now."

George mews a little and presses his head back into Harry's hand.

Harry's fingers are so nice, and long, and lovely, and they feel good, and he's just got a _tattoo_ for George.

A tattoo at the top of his thigh, just at the edge of his snug red pants.

And his cock.

George really wants to suck it again, really well, to show Harry that he's _so_ grateful, and he appreciates him, and he wants him forever and ever and ever.

He says so, too, pressing his voice up against the side of Harry's neck. "Want it, please, again, like yesterday, wanna suck your cock really good, please?"

Harry's still hard, a bit, George can feel it, but he bites George's ear and then shakes his head. "Not so soon, you can't," he whispers. "Later, when you've got your voice back."

George almost sobs with it, his face in Harry's chest. "But you, for me, and I wanna."

Harry has his fingers in George's hair and he lets out a shuddering breath. "Only if you're careful," he says, which isn't a no, it's not a no at all. "Careful and quick and not all the way, baby, you can't," and he feeds his thumb into George's mouth, presses down on his bottom lip.

George nods gratefully, eyes huge. "Now?" he asks around Harry's thumb.

"No, not yet," Harry whispers, his fingers touching the back of George's neck. "Not yet, sweetheart, you've got to wait."

George looks down at the tattoo peeking up at him through the clear wrapping around Harry's thigh. He doesn't like that at all; he wants to touch it, even though he knows he can't.

"George." Harry's voice is sharper, pierces through the whitegold fog in George's brain. "You've got to wait, George. Not here."

George hesitates before nodding. "Are you angry?"

"No, I'm horny." Harry huffs out a laugh, and he's smiling. "I really really want to do this for you."

George lights up inside like fireworks.

"We need to get a cab," says Harry, slowly, stroking George's hair. "And I need to text Louis, alright? Not long, promise."

George nods, moon-eyed, still staring at the tattoo on Harry's leg. He never really thought that he'd be this affected by a tattoo – never even liked them – but he's also never had one _for_ him on someone wonderful's body.

He doesn't want Harry to put trousers on again, but he does, of course, being sure not to rub his new tattoo up against anything. The new tattoo he got for George.

George tugs at Harry's sleeve as Harry is paying. "Harry? I want one."

"You want one," Harry repeats. He sounds cautiously delighted. "A tattoo, you mean?"

George nods. "Yes, please."

"Now, you want one?" Harry asks for clarification.

George tilts his head and tries to think it all through, step by step, but his brain is so _slow_ like this and he – wants, but he can't, doesn't know – "D'you want me to have one now?"

Harry tilts George's chin up, and shakes his head. "Not when you're under, Georgie," he says quietly. "I think wait until tomorrow, we can come back."

George tilts his head and keeps rubbing his cheek up against Harry's arm. "Okay. If you want."

"That's what I want," Harry sighs. "That's exactly what I want." He pulls out his phone with the arm George isn't occupying and somehow manages to text quickly one-handed, which is something George cannot do on his best days.

They leave the shop and the sunlight is – George isn't sure whether it's nice or not, but it brings him back to himself a bit and he doesn't really mind. New York is loud and full of people and he has to be able to focus not to walk into anyone.

It makes some of the gold in his head drift away, and he can think through it a little better. Harry isn't holding his hand now, but his arm is pressed all along George's and that's almost as good.

Harry looks down at George and smiles, adjusting his sunglasses. "D'you really want a tattoo?"

"Yes," George whispers, bobbing his head a little. Truthfully, he doesn't even know what tattoo he would get, but he wants to get one for Harry and Louis.

Harry smiles. "Alright. Well, think about it, and if you still want one tomorrow, then we'll talk to Lou, okay?"

George nods, and chances pushing his face against Harry's arm. He wants to be touched, he wants Harry to touch him.

"Hey, you." Harry indulges him with a squeeze.

That just makes George want more, touching and squeezing, kissing and biting and licking and sucking, he wants hugs and kisses and Harry's cock in his mouth.

He says as much, leaning close to Harry's ear when Harry tries to hail a cab. "I still wanna blow you. Please?"

"Soon," is what Harry answers. "Promise, love. Pinkie swear. Soon."

A taxi pulls over and Harry pulls George into the back with him, drawing George up into his lap.

George buries his face in Harry's neck, leaning his weight away from Harry's freshly-tattooed leg even though what he wants is to grind down until Harry's as out of breath as George is. He whines again and kisses Harry's neck hopefully. 

"Can you look at me a second, Georgie?" Harry asks, touching the side of George's face lightly.

Frowning, George leans back, nuzzling against Harry's hand and blinking at him. He wishes Harry would stop _stopping_ him. He wants this, and now. If George is quiet about it, maybe the driver won't notice.

Harry's eyes search George's face, and he makes an exasperated noise, shaking his head. "I don't know what I'm looking for. Sweetheart, you have to wait until Louis finds us, alright?"

Oh, that's why. Well, George understands that. He wants to be good for Louis, too, wants Louis to tell him he's done a good job, and if Louis should be there then George wants to wait until he is.

"Can I blow you when we find Louis?" George asks. His eyes brighten. "Can I blow Louis, too?"

"If that's what you want." Harry strokes his thumb down the column of George's neck. "Does your throat still hurt, George?"

George has to think about that, and it takes a minute to decide, pink and red words growing and fading around the edges of his mind as he turns them over, examines them, tries to find the ones that best fit how he feels.

"Good hurt?"

"Good hurt," Harry repeats. He strokes some of George's hair back from his face. "Like when you get bruises, like that good hurt?"

George nods, delighted. Harry knows exactly what he means. Harry knows what he needs.

"Okay, love," whispers Harry, kissing the corner of George's mouth. George doesn't want mouth-corner kisses, he wants real kisses.

He chases after Harry's face as Harry attempts to pull back.

Harry sighs, but he lets George kiss him once, just the once before he's urging George away again.

George stares plaintively at Harry, all wet lips and big eyes and need.

"Hey," Harry murmurs, "I'm not rejecting you, alright? I need you to try to come up a bit until Louis' here; I don't know what to do. Can't you just stick your head out the window or something?"

"I'm not a dog," George says doubtfully. He doesn't want to stick his head out the window, he wants to be kissing Harry. But if Harry wants him to stick his head out the window...

"Well, you don't have to," Harry says. "I just, would air help?"

It's cold out, and windy, and it would probably be bracing if George did. If Harry doesn't want him to be under, George should do his best to give Harry what he wants. He shuffles toward the window.

He resents it a little, because he _likes_ being under and he wanted to be under for days and days, and he thought that's why they brought him here.

"Shh, love," Harry whispers to him. "I love when you're under, but I can't tell if this is what you really want so easily. You don't like it when we get your dick out in public usually."

"Not mine," George explains, "Yours."

Harry just frowns, his whole face pinching together. "I don't know how that's different, though. Wait 'til Louis' here."

George sighs, and sticks his head out the window.

They aren't actually moving all that fast, seeing as they're in midtown at morning rush hour, but the air _is_ cold and drizzly and unpleasant.

George groans, but he does feel a bit less floaty. He doesn't feel less like he wants to suck Harry's cock, but he feels less floaty.

He ducks back into the cab and blinks raindrops out of his eyelashes. He sulks at Harry: "Can I stay inside now, please?"

"Yes." Harry wipes rain from George's eyebrows and kisses his cheek. "Sorry, I know it's cold."

George snuggles into Harry's lap again and presses his damp face into the curve of Harry's neck. "S'fine. I get it. I've to know what I'm gettin' into."

Harry murmurs in his ear and keeps George close and doesn't stop touching him the whole way to wherever they're going, which George likes. He doesn't ask where they _are_ going. He trusts Harry to take care of him.

They pull up in front of an enormous building flanked in marble stairs. There's one person waiting huddled off to the side of him, beanie pulled low over his face, and George beams because he recognizes that look, lose legs.

"Louis," he murmurs, smiling to himself. He loves Louis, even if he's a bit sad Louis has had to wait out here in the rain for them.

George gallops out of the cab while Harry pays and happily bounces up the stairs to clobber Louis in a hug.

"Oof!" exclaims Louis, laughing and wrapping his arms back around George. "Hello, darling. Having a good day with Hazza?"

George nods and pushes his cock up against Louis' hip, face buried in Louis' hair. "I wanna blow him, Louis, now now now. You, too."

"Shhh, let me have a look at you, love," Louis murmurs, tipping George's face back. "How're you feeling, please?"

"Really good," George says. "I had coffee. And food, too, and then Harry got me tattooed on him."

"Oh, good, I know he wanted to have that done while you were here." Louis presses his thumb against George's bottom lip. "You like it?"

George nods and nips Louis' thumb into his mouth, just the tip, to suck at suggestively. It makes George's own dick twitch in his jeans.

"You've got to be a good boy now, George," whispers Louis, his eyes serious underneath his beanie and floppy fringe. "Listen to what I say."

George's heart trip-hammers, because of course he'll listen to Louis.

He nods, and licks his lips, and stills, waiting for Louis to tell him what to do. He likes when Louis tells him what to do.

"First," Louis says, and rummages in his bag, "I brought you and Harry jumpers, 'cause it's cold and I figured he wouldn't think to put you in one, so put this on."

George laughs, because of course Louis thought to do that. Louis is lovely. Louis isn't wearing a jumper himself, actually, but he rarely does that George has noticed.

George grins at Louis as he emerges from the neck of the jumper, which must be one of Louis' because the neckline isn't enormous, but the sleeves don't reach his wrists, exactly.

That's fine, though. It means his collar's out on display so he can see it whenever he wants.

"There's a good boy," Louis murmurs, and fixes George's beanie. He tosses the other jumper to Harry a few stairs below them.

Harry stretches his arms up to put them into the sleeves and it makes a strip of skin show above the waist of his jeans. George wants to lick it. It's all very distracting.

"Shh, Georgie." Louis is laughing a little. "Jesus, I forgot how cockhungry you are. You always beg for it, don't you?"

"Mmmm," George hums. He does want it, he wants Harry and Louis and he wants to suck both of them now right now. "Please?"

"Can you answer a question for me?" Louis asks, and waits patiently as George considers well, can he, really?

He thinks he can. If Louis wants him to. "Yes," he decides, bouncing on his toes.

Louis holds George's face gently between his palms so he can look at George's eyes clearly. "What makes it different if it's our cocks out or yours? Besides whose cock it is, I mean."

George's lips pull into a slight frown. "It's not mine," he says. "Nobody's going to look at me."

Louis' brows draw together. "They might look at you, you know."

"Yeah, but – " George waves his hand. "They don't have to see my, like, body. If they don't want to."

"Ah," murmurs Louis. George is starting to feel a little prickly. "You don't like it when strangers look at you."

George nods and tangles his hands together so he can press the beads of his collar against his wrist.

"I don't like – there's no way to know if they wanted to look at me," George tries to explain. "If they don't want to see me, I don't want them to, to, to have to."

"Okay, it's okay, I understand." Louis touches the back of George's neck. "Nobody's going to see you if you don't want them to. I just want to make sure this is what you want to do."

George nods. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, yes. I get, like, thank you, for asking? But I really just want a dick in my mouth."

That gets a smile out of Louis, and he leans up to kiss George's head. "Okay. Let's see what we can do about that, then."

Louis takes George's hand to lead him into the museum entrance, Harry following behind them.

Having both of them there is lovely, makes George feel even more happywarm and centered. He likes Harry, loves Harry, but he likes-loves Louis too and he knows that he needs both of them.

He doesn't really understand why, of all places, they want to be at a _museum_ when they could be back in the hotel in bed, though.

It's a pretty museum, which George supposes is the point. Gold and silver and tile and sparkle. George has always liked things that sparkle.

All the same, he hadn't thought they brought him all the way to New York just for a field trip.

"Louis?" he asks, keeping his voice down because it feels like a place where you should speak quietly. "Why are we here?"

"Lovely, isn't it?" Louis says simply. "Get a bit of culture, bit of art. Bit of... exposure."

"I guess," George says, pacing his words slowly in the hope that by the end of the sentence he'll understand why Louis sounds so underhanded.

"Come along, my boys," Louis just blusters, pulling George along as he follows signage on the wall. "We're going to have a very classy day."

"Really classy," Harry agrees from George's other side. Does he know what Louis has planned? Probably; he must be well versed in Louis' schemes by now. "Like, so classy."

George frowns. "Do I need a bow tie or something?"

"No, bow ties aren't necessary. Unless you really want a bow tie?" Louis asks him. "I didn't bring one, though."

George shrugs. The art on the walls is quite pretty, even if Louis doesn't slow down enough that he can actually see it. "Guess I don't need one, if you didn't bring one for me."

"Maybe they sell bow ties here," says Harry. He sounds very thoughtful. "Maybe there's a painting of bow ties."

"We're not stealing a painting," Louis says flatly. "That would draw attention."

"Only a little bit. Do they let you _buy_ paintings from museums?" Harry muses. "Between us we'd probably have enough for one."

"We'd probably have enough for several, young Harry," Louis says, "But that is not the work of art I want to appreciate today." He stops and skids a little outside the glass entrance to a hall of statues. "Aha! Here we are."

"Here we are?" George asks doubtfully. He can't see how this is anywhere they're supposed to be, it's another room full of statues and beautiful things, but apart from that, it's like the other rooms.

Louis gives George a smile. "Don't you think it's nice?"

"Yes, it's lovely. We're in a museum," he says, in case Louis' forgotten. That's kind of the poitn of museums, to have nice things in them.

But he doesn't want to be in a museum looking at art, if he's honest, because he just wants to go back to the hotel and be full of dicks. It's not classy, and he supposes Louis wants classy today, but he's not used to Louis wanting _classy_. He's mostly used to Louis wanting to fill him with dicks.

Louis had said, too, he'd said that George could. And Harry'd said _soon_. George thinks it's probably soon but his mouth is still empty.

He sighs dramatically and wilts a little against the feet of a statue of... some Greco-Roman figure; he doesn't particularly care. Even the dicks on the statues are all covered with fig leaves and such.

"What's that look for, Monkey?" Louis asks him, and he leans George to his left, so that they're both propped against a pillar. "Aren't you having fun?"

George hesitates before shaking his head, changing his mind to shrug, and then changing his mind again and just pouting.

"What's wrong?" Louis's hand rucks up George's jumper and tucks beneath his shirt as well.

"Aren't you enjoying the sights?" Louis asks. "I am. Look – " he points to some statue of a youth with curly hair and a strung bow. "Remind you of anyone? Those lines, the sloped shoulders, narrow waist. Pretty, isn't it?"

It does, actually, and George's wilted smile perks up at the edges. "Harry hasn't got a bow and arrow," he says, "but otherwise the resemblance is uncanny."

"D'you know what Harry does have this statue doesn't?" Louis murmurs, and George is already nodding when Louis continues, his mouth soft against George's ear, "A big, hard cock, isn't that right? He always gets so fucking horny from being tattooed, I bet he's dying for your mouth."

George's mouth is _watering_. "Please," he whispers. "Please, I want to suck him, please."

"Right here?" Louis asks. "Where anyone could see? That's so dirty, Georgie. That's just filthy, isn't it, surrounded by all this beautiful art."

"Yeah." George's breath hitches. _Exposed_. That's what Louis had said before. Is that what they want him to do, suck cock right here, between Greco-Roman statues and works of art?

"I don't know if it's pretty enough to be in this room," Louis says airily. "You'll have to prove it by sucking me first."

Well, that's not a hardship at all. George loves sucking Louis, would suck him off here even if Louis hadn't asked, because Louis' been so good to him and he's so kind and George really, really likes sucking cock.

He drops to his knees and starts pulling at Louis' fly, shaky fingers undoing little buttons.

"That's it, Georgie," Louis murmurs, a hand stroking his hair. Crowded up against this pillar, George feels tucked away, like nobody could see him even if they were looking. "Color, please?"

"Green," George mumbles, his mouth already wet because he does want it, and he was begging and gagging for it and now he's there, and Louis' almost hard in his pants but not quite, not yet, and George is easing the elastic on Louis' pants down carefully to free his cock and balls. 

Louis leans forward a little, feet spreading, and rests his hands on the pillar. His coat screens George off from the rest of the room, and all he can see and smell and hear is Louis. He's going to taste, he has to.

He can't hold back his moan when he finally gets his lips around Louis. The taste is familiar but it's like George hasn't sucked a cock in weeks, months, years. It's so gorgeous, and it fits in his mouth so well.

"Careful of your throat, don't hurt yourself," Louis says, quietly but still firm.

George tries to nod but he's distracted by fitting Louis into his mouth, popping off to lick up the sides and flick his tongue lightly over the head, getting Louis harder. He slides his hands to rest on Louis' hips just to be touching more of him.

He doesn't take more than he knows he can, because Louis won't be pleased with him if he does hurt his throat. Right now, he's swallowing a lot, so that he keeps up a good level of spit and it's not so bad. He can hardly tell his throat hurts at all.

Louis sighs and rests his fingertips on George's cheek to feel the bump of his cockhead stretching George's mouth. "I think I was wrong, Georgie... you look so gorgeous like this."

George looks up at him, trying to smile without his teeth going where they shouldn't, and mostly he just gets loads of spit down his chin.

Louis' eyes honest-to-god twinkle. "Messy."

"Mmmm," is all George can manage, getting his mouth back where he wants it, wrapped around Louis' dick. He sucks, and gets his hand up to the bit he can't fit in his mouth (could fit in his mouth, if he were at full capacity).

"Good little love, Georgie," Louis murmurs. "Don't hurt yourself."

He's not hurting himself at all; everything is good and golden and smooth. He wants to sink down and take it all but Louis told him not to and more than anything George wants to please Louis.

"That's so good, George," Louis murmurs. "Missed your mouth. Wanked off thinking about it a few times while we were away from you, did you know? Wish I could just keep it with me all the time, use it whenever I liked."

George would like that, as long as his mouth was still attached to him. He'd like to come with Harry and Louis everywhere they went and when they have a hard day he can make them feel better with his mouth. That sounds splendid to him.

He takes a little more of Louis into his mouth, just so the tip is opening up the back of his throat, and yeah, it hurts more than usual, he's still sore and raw and _used_ but he likes it, he thinks. And he likes knowing that as soon as Louis' done he can turn and swallow Harry down, too, Harry's needed it so badly all day. He wonders vaguely whether Harry's still watching this or if he's wandered off to look at statues.

He can't see Harry past Louis. He can't see anything past Louis, actually, and he likes that. He likes that he's enclosed like this and Louis is covering him and nobody would see him even if they were looking.

"Someone's walked into the hall, George," Louis murmurs, and a thunderbolt goes up George's spine. "They're looking at those gold figures by the door. A woman; she looks about your age. Bit like Ella."

A person here who could see George, except she won't because Louis is covering him. Nobody's going to see him doing this, and he trusts Louis. George closes his eyes and sucks Louis down again, as much as he can before his throat protests.

One of Harry's hands – he can tell because it's so big and warm – covers the back of George's head, keeping him down on Louis' dick, hidden by the coat.

"She looks bookish," Louis says conversationally in a soft voice only meant for George. "Like she woke up this morning and thought she'd have a nice day with her coffee and classy art. Bet she'd rather see you, though, pretty mouth all stuffed full of cock."

Privately, George thinks he'd make quite a picture. Hair in his eyes, beanie God-knows-where, his mouth stretched so wide and spit all over himself. He feels debauched.

"That's it, Georgie," Louis whispers. "I'm gonna come now, okay? Don't swallow it yet."

George's head twitches up than down in a pathetic attempt at a nod, but he knows Louis knows he will.

Louis hips stutter a little and George feels Louis' abs tighten up against his forehead and the very tip of his nose and then his mouth is full and Louis is drawing back, painting George's lips with the last twitching smears of come.

_Don't swallow, don't swallow, don't swallow_ , George reminds himself, and he holds it in his mouth, even though his throat's constricting with the desire to just swallow it down.

Louis takes a moment to breathe before saying, "Clean me up, George. Fix my trousers."

George's fingers fumble, but he tucks Louis back inside, and does up the little buttons that hold his trousers closed, all while reminding himself that he can't swallow, he can't.

Louis looks down to check his fly. "Good, George. Now open up, let me see."

George breathes in through his nose and parts his lips, tilting his head back so it won't drip down his chin. He lets his tongue rest on his bottom lip to present Louis his own come, like a perverse game of show and tell.

"Good." Louis dips a finger into George's mouth to collect a drop on his finger and turns – he presses the finger between Harry's lips, and Harry smiles, granting him a softly sucking kiss. "Georgie, once Harry's got his dick in your mouth, you can swallow."

George makes a quiet noise of _want_ , casting his eyes up to Harry. He tilts his chin up as much as he can, pleading.

Harry just smiles and rubs his fingers through George's hair. His beanie must have fallen off; he hopes one of them found it, wherever it is. His hair's probably a haystack and they look perfect; he wants to look like he belongs with them, as well as to them.

"I don't have a coat," Harry whispers. "She'll see if we stay right here. D'you wanna move, George, or do you want her to see?"

George whines. He doesn't want her to see, but he doesn't want to move, he wants to suck Harry off _now_.

"I'm sorry you have to choose, George," Louis murmurs, "I know you don't like to. But I don't know what you'd rather."

George doesn't want to decide, he doesn't want to move, and he doesn't want ladies to see him with his mouth full of come. He leans back against the pillar and uses it to slide himself up to his feet, closing his mouth.

Louis immediately slides his arms around George's waist and holds him close, comforting. "Hey," he murmurs. "It's alright. Georgie? Are you listening to me?"

Nodding, George swishes around his mouthful. He keeps salivating and it's not making it any easier to keep in his mouth.

Louis' throat bobs and he looks – apprehensive, for a moment. "Georgie, you – kiss me, and let me swallow it, and then follow Harry wherever he wants to take you, alright?"

_Oh_.

Well that, that sounds just fine, that sounds like something George would like to do without even _needing_ to. He bobs his head affirmatively, and leans close to Louis, tilting his head down.

"You have to stop when I pull back," Louis says quickly, all in a rush, "No whining."

George nods again, quickly, his lips aching a little from holding the come in his mouth for so long already. He knows that Louis doesn't kiss while his boys are under, usually, but he knows that Louis could tell he needed it. Something extra.

Louis takes a deep breath and then touches George's chin, pressing their mouths together. George lets his lips part and helps to feed it into Louis' mouth with his tongue, soft noises escaping him because he can't help it.

Louis, to his credit, is silent and gentle as he sucks his own come from George's tongue.

The thing is, the thing is, George loves being kissed while he's under _so much_ , feels everything so much more and better and softer and harder all at once. It's so good, and Louis hasn't ever kissed him while he was under.

It's like there are fireworks going off in his head, bursts of color through the soft white clouds, fuchsia and scarlet and deep, deep blue, color and sound and bright and hot and George whimpers a little against Louis' gently moving tongue because he's –

"Louis, he came, I think?" Harry sounds amazed and raspy and confused. "He might've? It looks, there's, on his jeans?"

George isn't paying attention, he's too busy kissing Louis, and there's nothing better than kissing Louis. There are fireworks in his head, bright spinning Catherine wheels of color and explosions and goodness.

Louis' hand slides down George's belly and under the waistband of his jeans, feeling gently into George's pants.

Louis pulls back from the kiss and George lets out a quiet, dry sob. "Oh my god," Louis whispers. " _George_."

George blinks, and he's panting, huge shuddering breaths wracking his frame. "I," he says, and that's all, because he can't make any other words.

"Shhh," Louis murmurs, and he pulls George close again and kisses his neck. "You're perfect, George, you're really lovely."

It's odd; George feels distinctly like he's done something he shouldn't have but also like he's done something really good. He presses his face against Louis' shirt and bites, gently.

"That's right," Louis agrees, nonsensical and overwhelmed. "I said to follow Harry, didn't I? Go on, take his hand."

George whines quietly, nuzzling Louis' throat, because he's not sure what he's supposed to say. Take Harry's hand. He's supposed to do that. Harry's right next to him, so George slips his hand into Harry's just like they'd done that morning.

Harry squeezes his hand lightly. He coughs and glances at Louis, a little uncertain, before venturing, "What's your color, George? Still want to suck me off?"

"Please?" says George, using Harry's hand to tug him hopefully closer. "I, green? Please?"

Harry leans in and brushes his lips against George's temple. "Okay. Come on, let's find something to hide behind, I guess."

George keeps Harry's hand in his own. He doesn't want to let go because letting go will mean he's not touching either of them anymore. He can't not be touching either of them.

Harry finds what looks like an immense terracotta urn and shuffles George behind it, pressing lightly on George's shoulders until he lowers to his knees and leans in to nuzzle at the bulge in the front of Harry's jeans.

"Remember, not all of it," Harry murmurs to him. He looks like he's trying very hard to appear interested in the urn. "Don't hurt yourself."

George shakes his head. He almost giggles, because he doesn't think he could even feel pain right now, he's flying so high.

He focuses all his attention on getting Harry's cock out. He's hard, and George doesn't know if Harry's stopped being hard ever since he got his tattoo.

The tip is shiny-wet enough that he thinks he must have been, aching in his tight jeans while he watched Louis and then George come.

George is still buzzing, feels like he could come again if Harry wanted him to. Right now, though, he just wants Harry's cock, in his mouth, down his throat even if he can't take that much of it.

Harry helps George's sex-clumsy fingers roll his tight, tight jeans down almost to his knees, enough that Harry can get his feet apart a bit to ground himself.

"Careful, careful," Harry warns him again. George knows, he knows, but he wants it, so badly, and he has to groan when Harry finally lets him put his mouth on it.

He's bigger than Louis, and George's jaw is aching already. But he can feel the edges of the bandage on Harry's thigh against the heel of his hand, and his whole body seems to thrum with the knowledge that Harry's tattooed George _sweetheartsweetheartsweetheart_ onto his body, forever. _Foreverforeverforever_.

Harry deserves George taking all of him, but George knows he'd be upset if George tried. Instead, he uses his tongue a bit more than is strictly necessary, pulling out all the tricks he knows.

"So good, George," Harry praises, his fingers tangled in George's soft hair, holding it back from George's face so Harry can see clearly. "You love it so much, don't you?"

George hums his response, _yesyesyesyes_ , he loves this, making Harry feel good with his mouth. He loves blowing Harry, loves blowing Louis, loves blowjobs, he loves all of it.

He'd always thought it was weird, that he liked giving them better than getting them (and he does love getting them), but it's not weird. It's right, with Louis and Harry, making them feel good because he's focused just on them; it's right because he knows they're watching him right now, focused entirely on him, too.

They take care of each other.

They take care of him while he takes care of them. It's how things should be.

He slurps down on Harry's cock to get it wet and slippery before moving to focus his attention on the drippy head, using both of his hands to wank Harry off at the same time.

"George," Harry murmurs, petting his hair. George really wants to go down all the way for him. It's a consuming thought, because he knows he can't but wants to so much and he's so close. He keeps stroking Harry because otherwise he thinks he might just go for it.

"I wish I could fuck your face again," Harry rasps. "Have to fuck your arse hard later to make up for it."

And that's quite good, George can't find fault with that. He wants to be fucked as hard as Harry can fuck him, if he can't suck Harry's dick as good as he wants to suck it.

He moans around what he does have in his mouth, letting Harry feel the vibration of it, making his raw throat ache fiercely and spit and precome shine all over his chin.

"That's perfect, sweetie, that's so good," Harry tells him. He has his fingers still in George's hair, twining and tugging and keeping him where he wants him.

Louis voice startles George with how close it is, he must be bending down to whisper right in his ear. "You should get a finger in him, Georgie, help him come faster."

And Louis would know, George figures, so he slides his hand between Harry's thighs, his fingertips damp with precome and spit and he presses lightly at Harry's hole. Not even inside, just a tease while he swallows down as much as he can without it hurting.

Harry sounds like he's choking on the moans he's keeping down in his chest.

Good, that's good, that's really good. George likes getting Harry to make those sounds, and he wriggles his fingertip inside as he traces figures-of-eight on the underside of Harry's cock with his tongue.

"Someone should fuck Harry tonight, don't you think, George?" Louis asks, rubbing George's shoulders. "Hit him from behind so you don't hurt his new tattoo?"

George moans. He likes that thought a lot, likes the thought of his cock getting to be where his finger is right now.

He can't help it; he wants to give Harry the best that he can and his throat hurts anyway, so why not?

He slides his mouth down more, past where he knows his throat's going to be able to feel it, and it does hurt but he's making Harry feel good and that matters more.

"Hey." Louis squeezes George's shoulder. "I said not all of it; don't hurt yourself."

George isn't hurting himself; he's making Harry feel good. It doesn't even hurt that much.

"Come on, Georgie, be good," Louis murmurs.

Reluctantly, George eases his mouth back, humming softly. He just wants to make Harry feel nice. Louis knows that's what he wants.

Lips press against the back of George's head. "Good boy, perfect George. You should open your eyes and look at Harry's face. He's so happy with you."

George blinks, his eyes swimming a little, and looks up. He has to blink again before Harry's face is clear, but Louis is right, he looks happy and proud and George made him feel like that, he made Harry feel so good.

He slurps back to press a little kiss to the head of Harry's cock before sliding down again, meeting his lips with his hand as he strokes at him.

"Close," Harry mutters, and George thinks it's as much for Louis as it is for him, because Louis moves from behind George to behind Harry, casually leaning against the wall and coincidentally blocking most of the only available view of them.

George takes the opportunity to sink just another inch down and slide his finger just a bit deeper into the warmth of Harry, curling his knuckles enough to tease.

Consequently, the noise Harry makes sounds a little like a muffled sneeze, and his fingers tighten in George's hair and then he's coming, his hips rocking just a little, just enough that George can feel the burn of it.

He's needed it for so long that the force of it surprises George and he doesn't quite catch all of it properly in his mouth, a dribble of white dropping between his lips.

Harry knuckles it up before it can drip past his chin, and sucks it off his own finger. He looks flushed but satisfied and George is proud of himself.

He sits back, resting on his heels, and stretches out the tight muscles in his hand.

"Such a good boy, sweetheart," Harry says, leaning back heavily against Louis. George can hear Louis laughing under his breath, but he keeps Harry up admirably.

George kneels up again and touches the lightest of kisses to the edge of the bandage on Harry's thigh.

Harry's voice gets softer. "For you. Don't forget." He taps George's cheek. "It's for you."

George beams. His mouth and throat and knees and hands and arms are aching like mad.

"Louis?" says Harry, gathering himself together and wobbling when he stands upright. "Is that all we wanted?"

"At the museum?" Louis asks. "I guess. You're the one who gives a fuck about art."

"This is art," Harry replies with a frown and an expansive gesture toward George. "Isn't this art?"

Louis smiles fondly and holds out both hands to help George up. "Pretty as a picture."

If Harry wobbles on his feet, George double-wobbles, or wibbles, or whatever's worse than wobbling. His knees nearly crumple beneath him.

"Oh, dear," Louis mutters. "Y'alright, George?"

"Yes," responds George, letting himself rest against Louis for a moment. He's really sturdy, and solid. George likes solid.

Louis kisses the side of George's face. "Was there anything _you_ want to see here?"

George presses his hand tentatively to the wet spot at the front of his jeans.

"Oh, that's right," whispers Louis, and he presses his own hand there over George's. "Maybe later? After we get you back to the hotel for some new trousers?"

George blushes so bright red that he can feel it prickling like sweat in across his chest and all down his neck.

"Hey, you're fine." Louis strokes the back of his neck and George sighs. "You're alright. You did so well today."

George swallows painfully a few times before croaking, "You didn't say I could come."

"I didn't say you couldn't, either. And it's my fault for kissing you." Louis rubs George's back. "I'm not angry with you."

He noses playfully at George's sore throat before drizzling it with soft kisses. "I love when you come, George."

That makes George feel a little better. He tucks his nose up against Louis' neck and inhales, letting his breath out in a sigh. "Still sorry," he murmurs.

"Don't be," Louis says simply. "It was gorgeous. I love how much you love kissing and touching me, George."

George hiccups out a laugh, because... because Louis is pleased with him, and he made Harry feel good, and he's come in his pants in the middle of a fancy museum in New York. He's never getting over this.

Louis lifts George's and and kisses his collar.

"Okay," George sighs happily. "Okay. I don't." He coughs, his throat still burning a little. "I'm all. Pants."

"Yes, we'll go back to the hotel and get you clean pants and trousers and a coat," Louis says decisively. "And maybe a coffee, if you'd like? And lunch?"

"Coffee," says George. He's very happy with the thought of coffee, even if it hasn't been so long since he had some. Since the morning, and it's got to be afternoon, and his throat _does_ hurt a little. And he's a bit hungry. All good reasons to go get coffee and food and trousers.

"Here." Harry shucks his jumper and holds out his hand to switch with George. "This will be long enough to cover you up until we get home. Not home. The hotel."

George smiles gratefully at him. It's good Harry's taller, and he's right, the jumper falls far enough on George that it covers the damp patch on his jeans. It also droops off his shoulder a little but that's probably in style now.

"Oh!" Harry also produces George's rumpled beanie from his back pocket. "Louis fucked this off your head."

"I was worried I'd lost it!" George exclaims, jamming it back down over his hair, which he's sure looks exactly like he's just blown two people. "Thank you."

"Aw," Louis chuckles, and runs a fingertip over George's neck. "Voice cracking. So cute."

George rubs his throat lightly, smiling. His voice breaking is better than not being able to talk at all, and it's like a reminder every time he says anything.

Louis slides his arm around George's waist. "Come on, love. Let's head back downtown."

Harry's jumper smells like him, and Louis is still firm and warm, even when they duck out into the New York drizzle. It's cold and rainy and George's throat hurts and his pants are sticky but he's still happy. He's still happy.

He's happy because he made them happy – and because there's a tiny swoop of something like victory in his stomach because they just did something so outrageously risky and _filthy_ and nobody's laughing at him.

Nobody even looked at him twice the whole time they were inside.

There's a ring of food trucks near the museum and Louis hesitates before leaning into the street to hail a cab.

"George," he says thoughtfully. "How much do you mind staying messy all day?"

It's nothing he hasn't done before. In Paris, he remembers, they'd told him to keep his dirty pants on all day and he had. "Do you want me to?" he asks.

He'd been allowed to shower in-between, though, so it wasn't so much a... well, it just wasn't as wet. He can feel it on the tops of his thighs.

"It's kind of wet," he says out loud. "I can if you want me to."

"Not all day," he decides after a moment. "Just until after lunch. You can do that, I know you can."

George nods and smiles, because of course he can; he can do anything they want, he thinks.

He just sucked his (boyfriends, lovers, HarryandLouis') cocks in a fancy museum. He can do anything at all.

"I was prettier than the statues," George says thoughtfully as Louis leads him across the road to a coffee vendor's truck.

"You're prettier than every statue in the whole world," says Louis. He's not holding George's hand but he's got his arm over George's shoulders and he's keeping him tucked close.

George feels like his chest is glowing. Like Iron Man; that takes place in New York, doesn't it?

"Got a bigger dick than most of them, too," Harry says from George's other side. "Not that size is everything."

George giggles, his nose wrinkling. " _You're_ everything."

"And you're cute." Harry kisses him right on his nose.

George beams, and beside him, Louis orders him an iced coffee with lots of extra caramel, and he thinks this might be the new best day of his life.

Every successive day with Harry and Louis is a good day, better than the one before. Even days that aren't like this, if they just cuddled and George didn't suck anyone off anyway, he thinks that'd be a pretty good day.

Louis hands George his coffee and Harry nuzzles into his neck from the other side.

He smells like come but he has coffee and his boys and he's theirs and they're his and everything's just... good.

The rest of the day is good, too, sightseeing and walking and once Harry gives him a piggyback all the way down a street.

He has no idea how they aren't being approached by people. They're not exactly being low-key, and they don't have any security with them. He asks once, when they're on the deck of a ferry in the rain headed out to the Statue of Liberty, but Louis just says, "I told Niall to tweet where he was all day."

"Oh," George says in return. "Does that work? They all just go where he goes?"

"Mostly," Harry says. "He's like a homing beacon."

"That was really nice of him, then. Can you tell him I said thank you?" George requests. He actually thinks he might _have_ Niall's number, but he's not sure.

"Sure," Harry says agreeably, and he hitches George higher onto his back. "What would you like to do now, Louis?"

"Get our Georgie to the hotel." Louis is walking backwards down the street so that he can see them. "Fuck him into the mattress. Let him fuck you into the mattress. Unless you'd like to see George Washington's teeth, which are that way somewhere, I think."

"I don't think that's true," Harry says calmly. "I think they're either buried in his skull or in Washington DC. Or both. I don't know where he's buried."

"Maybe he's buried that way, _Harold_." Louis wrinkles his nose at Harry and then makes a very bizarre face.

George giggles and buries his face in the top of Harry's head.

"Anyway, I like the first plan better." Louis deftly avoids a fire hydrant without even looking. "We can see more sights tomorrow."

He gives George's rump a pat where he's seated on Harry's waist. "Sound good, Georgie?"

"Yes, please." George leans back enough that he can kiss the top of Louis' head, because Harry's so tall it's made George taller.

Louis shakes his head fondly. Then he swats at Harry's behind. "Hurry up then, Harold. We have a George to fuck."

Harry sighs heavily, but he speeds up. "My name's never been Harold. Two years and some you've known me, and my name's never ever been Harold. Ever."

"It is for me," Louis says simply, and George thinks that makes it true. "I could call you Marcus, and it'd be your new name."

"Don't call me Marcus." Harry sulks at Louis. "I don't suit the name Marcus _at all_. That'd be like if I wanted to call you Francis."

"No, it's not. Francis is a terrible name. I had a phys ed teacher called Francis once. Terrible person. Marcus, though, that's a solid name for a solid bloke."

"You know what else is a solid name for a solid bloke? Harry."

Louis makes a disagreeable noise. "I suppose that's true. What d'you think, George?"

"I think Harry looks like a Harry," George says slowly. "Don't know that I could sleep with a Marcus. Not really a name to cry out in the throes of passion, is it?"

"Could try," Louis says, and promptly throws his head back and yells, "Oh, Mar- _cus_ , _yes_!" He shakes his head as people stare. "No, you're right, it doesn't work."

George keeps his head ducked behind Harry's. "No, no it doesn't," he agrees, unable to keep his giggles inside.

"'Harry' does, though," Louis says. "George, give us a good moan for Harry."

It doesn't even feel as ridiculous as it should. George hitches himself up and settles his mouth against Harry's ear and sighs, "Harry, ohh, _Harry_."

Harry swears under his breath and changes his gait. "Louis, I want him first when we get back."

"That's alright with me, _Harold_." Louis is doing a smirky thing that's very attractive.

George can practically feel Harry's scowl.

The trip back to the hotel is just as lovely as the rest of the day's been. It's, it's one of the best days George thinks he's ever going to have.

He's comfortable and happy and his brain has been lightly swirling with gold-white... not quite fog, but awareness, keen awareness of where Louis and Harry are and what they need from him, all day.

It's different from being under, but it's also the exact same. George likes it.

He tries to keep track – he was under in the museum, definitely, but not at the State of Liberty; he was under at the tattoo parlor, but not at breakfast – but it all bleeds together into one soft, glowing, warm and safe day.

It ends as perfectly as it began, with George fucking Harry carefully, Louis helping to make sure that Harry's tattoo doesn't get rubbed against. It's all so soft and warm and caring and George doesn't know how anybody has a fulfilling life when it's not his.

When they bathe and Harry has to change the dressing on his tattoo, George delights in explaining it to Louis, pointing out which loveheart is meant to be himself.

"I bet it's the sweetest one," Louis tells him as he washes George's hair. "Like, you know the ones that taste like feet? Not those ones. The good-tasting ones."

George giggles and wrinkles his nose. "I don't know whether any of them taste good."

"They do, you've just got to find the right ones." Louis bends George's neck a bit to wash the shampoo out of his hair. "There are definitely good-tasting ones. I used to buy them for nobody and just eat whole boxes myself."

George burbles a weird little laugh and then frowns, rubbing his neck. "Ow."

"Don't do that, silly monkey," Louis chides. "I told you not to take so much today. How much does it hurt? Would you like some tea with lemon and honey?"

George considers asking for coffee, but he knows that won't actually soothe his throat.

"That sounds nice, thanks," he says instead. He does like tea, and he likes his throat hurting less. This sounds like the best of both worlds.

Louis kisses his cheek and Harry produces a fluffy onepiece out of one of his suitcases. George is beside himself with happiness.

It doesn't have ears, but it's warm and big and George feels very small in it, small and taken care of.

He curls up in Harry's lap, drinking tea and watching Louis watch a film, until he dozes off.

It's probably the most relaxing day he's ever had.

The next morning, George wakes up next to Louis, with only a warm, empty space in the bed on his other side.

That's not exactly a _problem_ , because he's comfortable and pleasantly sleepy still, but the empty space is still warm which means Harry didn't get up all that long ago. Maybe he should look for him.

Louis rolls over, then, and closes his arms around George's waist. "Stay with me."

"Okay," George says agreeably. Really, Harry can handle himself anyway. If Louis wants to cuddle, George is hardly going to say no.

Louis is always warm, a compact little ball of motion and heat, but he's especially warm in the morning, all skin and soft plaid pajamas and faint hair on his chest. And muscles, firm and smooth in his arms around George.

George sighs, relaxing against Louis. "Morning," he mumbles, even though for all he knows it's not morning. They'd drawn the curtains last night because Louis had wanted to take advantage of not needing to set an alarm.

"Not morning," Louis grumbles, kissing the back of George's neck. "Not 'til I say it is."

"Erm, good-not-morning, then." George doesn't really care. He just feels nice.

"C'mon, Georgie, sleep." Louis' voice gets its little morning-whine back. George loves the way Louis sounds in the mornings. "Cuddle with me."

Well, that's not a problem at all. George snuggles back into Louis and closes his eyes, lacing his fingers with Louis' to pull his arm more tightly around him.

Louis sighs, satisfied, and his lips brush the back of George's shoulder.

"Love you," says George, because it feels like the right thing to say in the fuzzy soft half-light of the morning.

"Love you," Louis replies. "Now shush, I'm sleeping."

George shushes, and at some point he must drift back off as well.

When he wakes, it's to the smell of coffee.

"Coffee!" he tries to say, but it doesn't come out of his mouth like any sort of word at all.

Harry laughs, sitting on the edge of the bed. He smooths George's hair out of his face. "You're getting shaggy. And yeah, I got you coffee. Extra caramel, right?"

"I love you," George mutters, clawing his way from the pit of blankets and more blankets. Coffee awaits him, steaming hot and sweet just how he likes it.

Harry kisses George's forehead. "I know."

George takes a deep sip of the coffee, then looks around the room. "Where's Louis?"

"He'll be back soon," says Harry vaguely. "Just had to go off to do a few things."

George frowns. "You keep leaving me. Both of you. First you were gone and now he's gone."

"But we're not leaving you alone," Harry points out.

"I like having both of you," George says. He's perilously close to whining but it's early and he wants both of them with him, so fuck it.

Harry sighs heavily. "You just did, literally, like ten hours ago."

"I know." George cups his hands around his coffee to keep them warm. "Sorry. Never mind."

Harry leans across the mattress to kiss George's cheek. "It's alright. I know it's weird to wake up and have someone different there. Or, well, I assume, anyway. But Louis said we definitely shouldn't risk you waking up alone-alone, so we took it in shifts."

"Where's he gone, then? Do you know when he'll be back?" George likes being near both Harry and Louis, when he's spent so much time already away from both of them. It's not like Harry isn't enough (George just spent all of yesterday morning alone with Harry) but he just... It's nice, spending time with both of them.

Harry smiles a secretive little smile. "He's checking something out."

"And you're not going to tell me what it is? Is it super-secret One Direction business?" Maybe One Direction are secretly spies. Maybe George has just woken up.

"No, it's much better," Harry says. "You'll see it in a bit. He wanted to make sure you had plenty of sleep and food and coffee first, just – in case."

"In case of...?" George asks. They could be planning on having him run a race.

Harry shrugs. "We're still learning," is all he says.

George sighs, and shrugs. "Alright," he says. If they're not going to tell him, he guesses it might be a nice surprise.

"I brought you breakfast as well," Harry says, "But if you want something else, we can get room service."

"Can I have a hug first?" George asks, shuffling across the bed. He feels dreadfully alone in the massive bed, even if Harry's right there on the edge.

"Of course, Georgie." Harry folds George up in a crushing hug.

He's careful not to spill his coffee, but wraps his other arm around Harry, smiling. Good. He likes cuddles.

Harry kisses George's neck in a soft line. "Lovely little Georgie. You shouldn't shower today; you smell all sleepy and good."

"How can someone smell sleepy?" George laughs, but he knows what Harry means.

"Makes me want to cuddle you," Harry explains, resting his face in the curve of George's shoulder.

"Cuddle me, then," George invites. "Properly, none of this one-armed business."

"Don't want coffee on me," Harry says. "I've already showered today."

"I'll put it down." George sets his coffee down with care on the bedside table. "Choosing you over coffee, see?"

Harry's smile is genuine, soft and a little awed. "I'm very flattered."

"You should be, too." George opens his arms hopefully. "Please? Just for a bit?"

Harry crawls over George and bears him down against the pillows.

That's even better, because it's pressure on his arms and Harry on top of him and there's not a lot of things better, George thinks, than Harry on top of him.

Harry leans down and kisses George's lips. "You taste awful, though. Like sleep and coffee."

"See if I ever kiss you again." Even as he says it, George is burrowing into Harry and kissing his neck.

"It's funny, isn't it, how sleep smells good and tastes bad," Harry says. "Like coffee."

"How very dare you!" George exclaims, copying Louis.

"Oh, I very dare." Harry gives George a challenging look. "And what are you going to do about it?"

George sinks his teeth into the side of Harry's neck and sucks sharply, drawing a dark bruise to the surface of Harry's fair skin.

The noise Harry makes is so thoroughly sexual that George almost comes right then and there.

The hotel room door opens and Louis bustles in. 

"Well, well, well," he says. "Look at what I walk in on. I tell Harry, 'feed George and give him coffee' and instead I come back to this!"

"He did give me coffee," George defends, licking the bruise he's made. "But then I had to defend its honor."

Louis rolls his eyes dramatically and flops onto the bed. He gives George an invigorating pet. "I can't leave you two alone for a minute."

"You _shouldn't_ ," says George, nuzzling into Louis' hand.

"I think you'll appreciate it later," Louis says. "I was picking out a few little presents for you."

"More plugs?" George asks, a little confused. He didn't think there would be all that many variations on little bits of plastic you stick in your bum.

"Not quite." He kisses George's head. "You'll see in due time. Not all of the best things in life go in your bum."

"I think they do," Harry says boldly. "If it includes the best people."

"You hush, Styles, loads of your favorite people have never been in your bum." Louis shakes his head at Harry but his expression is all fondness.

"Not really," Harry says. "Most people I really like have been in my bum at some point."

Louis looks disgruntled.

"Name names so I can tell them they're never getting near your bum again, much less inside of it," he demands.

"No," Harry says. "They don't have their own protection details."

Louis huffs. "Well, that's not my fault, is it?"

Harry rolls off George and kisses Louis' cheek. "No. I love you?"

It looks like Louis is considering that, but George can see the smile tugging at his lips. "Hm. I suppose I love you too, don't I?"

George smiles, watching them. It's still sort of a novelty, seeing people love each other as much as Harry and Louis do.

He's reminded sometimes that they've been in a relationship for so long, even if it's not always been what it is now. And he's not extra anymore, but it's still enough, on occasion, to just watch them interact and know that as soppy as it might be, true love does exist.

Louis kisses Harry's mouth softly, then turns and shakes George's ankle. "C'mon, Georgie! Hurry up!"

"Hurry up for what?" he asks, already moving. He should've thought to bring clothes, but he doesn't exactly mind wearing Harry's or Louis' the whole week.

Louis' eyes glimmer dangerously. "Somewhere you'll like, I think."

"Is it Starbucks?" George asks. "Or THiNK Coffee?"

"You just got coffee!" Louis says with a grin. "No, you'll like this even – dare I say – better than coffee."

George looks at Louis skeptically from beneath his hair. He gives his coffee a blithe sip.

"You'll see what I mean, but you've got to get dressed first. We've got a timetable to conform to." Louis digs out a pair of jeans and a shirt for George, laying them on the bed. "Might have to start bumming clothes off Zayn. He always brings too much anyway."

"We could just make him go naked," Harry suggests, nuzzling the side of George's skinny arm as he helps him pull the shirt over his head. "I'd like that."

"Sounds like a great idea to me," Louis replies, giving George a thorough onceover. "Maybe not to Georgie, though."

George's head pops out of the t-shirt and he shakes his head. "Nobody but you two wants to see it."

Harry and Louis snort in unison, and Louis fixes George's hair. "Mental, you are, but that's not what today is about, anyway."

George stumbles off the bed to slide into the jeans they've offered him. "Glad today's not about my being mental."

"Are you thirsty, hungry, how's your throat?" Louis lists off. "Do you feel wonky in any way?"

"I'm alright," George says honestly. "I just slept for nine years and had a coffee."

"Good." Louis grasps his shoulders lightly, peering into George's eyes. "I think we're ready to go, then."

He kisses George's forehead, right between the eyes.

"Where are we going?" George asks, closing his eyes for a moment. "Or is it still a secret?"

Louis and Harry exchange a look. 

"It'll be easier for you to see it than for us to explain it," Harry says.

That could be so many things. George sighs. "Okay. It's not bad, is it?" he adds. He's sure it's not, if Louis thinks there's a possibility he'll like it more than coffee, but it's best to be positive.

Louis snickers at that for some reason. "Not bad at all. Just a little _bad_."

"Thanks, that clears it all up." George rolls his eyes, and gives Louis another hug before he straightens his shirt. He's not wearing pants, because Louis didn't give him any, and it's all very comfortable. "Okay. I'm ready."

"Got your collar?" Louis asks, trying for casual and not quite finding it.

"I'm always wearing my collar," says George, automatically slipping two fingers between the beads and his skin. "I don't take it off."

Louis smiles at that and leans in to kiss George's cheek. "Good. Now follow me; we're running late 'cause you wouldn't get your little bum out of bed."

"Running late for _what_?" George asks, not expecting an answer. Indeed, he's just bundled up between them and chivvied out the door.

[](http://statcounter.com/free-web-stats/)


	2. Part II

They have to take the subway instead of a cab, and Louis nearly gets arrested because he jumps over the turnstile even though he's paid. They sit for a long while, side by side by side on the hard plastic seats, and finally emerge in –

"Brooklyn?" He asks, "Why are we in Brooklyn?"

"Some things you can only find in Brooklyn," says Louis, clearing up nothing at all.

George frowns and follows them so closely that he steps on Harry's heels twice. (If he's honest, it's actually very pleasant outside and looks like a perfectly normal city neighborhood, but still, he's heard things.)

Eventually, Harry just lags back a step and keeps his hand low on George's back for the rest of the walk.

George pushes his face into the side of Harry's arm. "Thanks."

"Course," Harry says softly. "You're fine. We're almost there."

George knows better by now than to ask, _ALMOST WHERE?_ , so instead he just nibbles a bit at the end of Harry's short sleeve.

Almost to a clandestine building with green trim, apparently. It fits in among all the other buildings and if Louis hadn't stopped sharply in front of it, George wouldn't have given it a second look.

"Here we are," Louis says, sounding delighted to have found his destination. "God, didn't think I'd ever find it again. Getting places in Brooklyn is fucking impossible, one turn and you're in like, Norway."

"I don't think Norway's in America, actually," says Harry, his hand sliding down George's arm to grasp his hand for a moment.

"Oh, whatever," Louis grumps. "Finland, then."

He pushes a buzzer beside the door and waits to be let inside.

While they're waiting, Louis' hand twists back to grab the one of George's that Harry isn't already holding, and he feels calmer. Still a bit confused, but he trusts them. Even if they've brought him to a shady shop in Brooklyn.

When they walk inside, George is immediately struck by three things: the first is that it's much larger inside than he'd supposed from outdoors, much like the TARDIS; it's also cleaner than he'd thought it would be, everything shining and spotless and very nice, which is a relief; and they may well be a BDSM threesome, but they are probably the tamest of such that are in this shop, as someone goes crawling past their feet on the end of a leash.

It's a very nice leash, and the lady holding it smiles at him, but it's still. A bit of a shock.

Louis kisses the side of George's head. "Y'alright?"

"I think so," murmurs George. Caught off guard, and a little more nervous than he was, but he's alright. "What, what?" He pauses. "Why are we here?"

Louis smiles at him and touches the apple of George's cheek. It's oddly calming. "Well, I was thinking that we'd get you a present for doing _so_ well on the show and being so... George. Being so George."

"I am very George." The shop smells a little like leather and, George is bewildered to find, a little like lemon. "A present?"

Louis nods, his eyes shining and glinting in the dim light. All of the windows are blacked out from the inside, making it look like night inside the expansive shop, dark and close and secret.

"We've made a bit of an appointment," he tells George. "Because you should pick it out, as it's for you. We want it to be your choice."

George frowns. He can't even begin to fathom how weird the plugs Louis' set aside for him must be.

"Back here, come on," Louis urges, tugging George's hand. There's a doorway to a room George hadn't seen before, off to the side of the main room, and someone with more piercings than George has ever seen on a human opens it for them with a nod.

The person with piercings smiles at George, though, like he's an old friend, but doesn't speak to him, instead deferring to Louis. "So he's yours?"

"He's ours," Louis replies, his eyes flicking to Harry.

Eyebrows studded in silver raise appreciatively. "He's beautiful."

George's shoulders shift uncomfortably and Louis slides his arm around George's waist.

"Thank you," Louis says politely. "He doesn't like people talking about him like he can't hear." He turns to George and gives his back a little rub. "Isn't that right, Georgie?"

George bobs his head affirmatively, because his throat's all dried up, and he gives Louis' shoulder an appreciative bite.

Their guide, or whatever, gives George another smile. "I'm sorry. We just make it a point not to speak to submissives unless we get permission from their Dominants."

George nods again, his face still turned into Louis' shoulder.

It's all – a lot. It's a lot, when George isn't used to feeling this intensely odd. Everyone else he's talked to who has known what they were doing, Nick and Aiden and Jaymi, none of them made him feel this weird about it. Like it's a big Thing rather than just something that makes him happy.

Harry's hands come around to frame George's hips and that helps, a bit, but George hopes – he hopes that yesterday, the museum, that wasn't some sort of dry run and now they think he's alright being being on display or something.

"We've got everything set up in the back," says the person, nodding toward the room. "Would you like me to come along and help you with the specifics, or would you rather be on your own?"

Louis looks over at George's red face tucked into his shoulder. "I think we're alright on our own."

"That's perfectly fine, just come get me when you've made your choice and we can discuss pricing." Their guide-tour-person gives them another smile and a nod before they step off to help the lady with the leash.

Maybe the person _on_ the leash, George thinks faintly, but that doesn't seem to be their concern.

A door thuds somewhere else in the shop and Louis waits a moment before touching soft palms to both of George's cheeks and lifting his face to look into his eyes. "Are you alright, love? I know that weird; sorry, it wasn't as weird this morning when it was just me. You okay? What's your color? How you feeling?"

George bites his lip and lets out a nervous giggle. "I'm alright, I'm okay, I'm – yellow? I feel weird, but you said you knew it was weird."

Louis folds George into a hug and it's like normal. He smells like Louis and feels like Louis and Harry tucks in behind him to wrap his arms around them both, and George thinks, well. Maybe he – people like him, even – aren't the concern of the people who work here, but he's still Louis- and Harry's priority.

He sighs, and his shoulders relax, because it's just them now. Just George and Harry and Louis, and whatever Louis wants him to look at, he'd said it was a _present_ , so it can't be bad. And George gets to pick whatever it is.

He wonders if anyone else here would expect him to get to be the one who picks. The thought that they're special, the three of them, makes him preen a little in the base of his belly.

"I'm really sorry, Georgie. I think the way we work is a bit odd, even in this world." Louis kisses the side of George's neck. "Just us now, though. Are you ready to see?"

George hesitates, and Louis kisses George's neck again.

"You really do want to see it, George," Harry says helpfully. "And if you don't like it, we'll just go. We can get ice cream or something."

George giggles wildly at that, the idea of getting ice cream.

"Okay," he agrees. He hesitates. "Will you be angry, if I don't like it?"

"No, not at all," Louis and Harry say in the same breath.

George smiles. "Okay. Yeah, alright, I'm ready to see it."

Louis kisses George's chin and Harry kisses the nape of George's neck and they lead him through the narrow corridor into another room, a showroom or a big workspace.

And that's when George sees why they thought he'd like this. His heart rate picks up immediately and he thinks he's probably gaping.

There are cages. Massive cages, and at least a dozen of them, set out on display with neat stands and accessories and all different colors, all different sizes. At first glance he sees one that looks like a bird cage but for a pterodactyl, and a square cage with decorations down the sides in a swirling pattern.

He turns to Louis and makes a strange, squeaking, guileless noise. "I – I don't – "

Louis gives him a hopeful, tiny smile. "You seemed to like the idea when we talked about it before, so we just thought, you might like to have one to keep at ours?"

George's heart soars up in his chest and seems to stop, suspended in disbelief. "Really?"

"Of course, really." Louis laughs. "We were going to surprise you with one once we got back home, but – that doesn't seem fair, does it? If you're the one in it, you should get to pick which one it is, right?"

George bites his lip. His eyes slide to look at the corridor, knowing people are here, just outside. People who think like Louis and people who think like him, only he doesn't – it's not really, is it, just like him and Louis and Harry, because they've never thought twice about letting people speak to George. It's like they have one foot in this world and the other foot outside; one foot in as fucking _popstars_ who are never together and the other in a place where Harry would suggest easy as anything that if they don't fancy the cages, they'll just get _ice cream_.

He thinks the world he's in is better. If those people out there are happy as they are, then that's all well and good, but George is happy as _he_ is as well and he doesn't think that means they're doing it wrong.

"Is that weird?" George asks, and Louis' eyebrows shoot up. Oh, he actually hasn't mistakenly spoken out loud. The one time it'd've been really useful.

"Is what weird?" Louis replies, tilting his head. "You'll have to be a bit more specific."

George lowers his voice, just in case it _is_ weird. "That I want to pick my own? Cage?"

Louis frowns, and slowly shakes his head. "I... It's for you, though. Why wouldn't you want to pick it? What if I picked one that was really uncomfortable and it made you feel unsafe? It should be your choice, if it's for you."

George pauses and looks at his hands. One of Louis' comes down to rest over George's twisted fingers, and George rubs his thumb over Louis' wrist thoughtfully. "D'you think they'd think it's weird? That you'd let me choose?"

"What I think," says Louis, softly, just for George, "is that it doesn't matter one fucking iota what they think. What do you _want_ , Georgie?"

"I don't want to be weird," George says softly. "But I do really want a cage."

"Then that's what matters." Louis kisses his head. "Whichever one you want, that's the one we'll get. Because what matters is whether you like it or not."

George pauses and nods. "They won't, like, kick us out or anything? For being odd?"

"Georgie," Harry says plaintively, "I don't know that anywhere in the world would be less likely to kick someone out for being a bit odd."

That's a good point, George supposes. He takes a deep breath and lets it out. "Okay," he decides. "Okay, I really want one."

Louis beams, then. "Alright, good. Well. Let's take a look, then. The benefit of fucking popstars, you know, is that price is no object."

George laughs, then wonders if he should protest. Some of these cages look like they probably cost three arms and six legs, and George really has no way to pay them back at the moment.

"It's really okay," Harry assures him, and kisses the back of George's head. "It'll be good decor in my house, don't you think? Could keep the ghost in it when you aren't there."

"I don't think that's how ghosts work," George says, but there's no real point to telling them not to spend money on him when they will anyway. He edges along, swallowing and panning from cage to cage.

Louis skip over to one and tests the door. "Oh, they're open. George, if you find one you like, you can just pop on in there and test it out."

He shivers, he can't help it. He can feel the white-gold fog at the edges of his mind and hopes he can hold it off long enough to pick a cage before he just drops to his knees and gets someone off.

There's a pretty one in the corner that's all gilded, like a fairytale cage for a peacock or a fancy dancer in a vaudeville show or Dita von Teese or someone. He likes how it's sort of shiny, but the bars are awfully close together. He might not be able to see very well.

The one that looks like a birdcage is nice, if a bit quirky. It doesn't have a perch that George could sit on like a parakeet, but he could look past that. It looks like it's made of iron or pewter or something, but it's sort of lacking in size from side to side. Plenty tall, but George doesn't think he'd be able to move his arms.

George sighs. He trails his fingers over the cool metal of the bars as he walks past them. Louis is going berserk all over the room, opening and closing doors, climbing bars. Of course he is.

He doesn't want one that's too small, or he'll feel like he can't move. And he doesn't want one that's too big, or he'll be able to move too much. The ones in fun colors are nice. Maybe he'd like one in teal or purple or the blue one that has daisies on it. Actually, that one's probably cuter than a sex cage has any right to be.

George sighs and keeps looking around, trying to find a cage that Louis isn't in the midst of loudly inspecting himself.

 

There are so many of them, is the thing, and so many of them are so beautiful or simple or beautifully simple. Some of them just scare him, all thick black bars and sharp edges, but some of them (like the blue daisy one) are just... not quite enough.

There are a few in the very back corner that look like nothing more than punishing cages for an oversize pit-bull, and George's brain fleetingly skims over the image of the person on a leash outside. That isn't what he wants at all. And he supposes he's lucky that it isn't what Louis and Harry want, either.

Some of them are so small he doesn't think he could even fit in them, and he is quite little, if he says so himself.

Others look like they're meant for – 

"Party size?" Louis reads, a little incredulously, from across the room. "I don't think I want to know. Or maybe I do."

"Are you planning on fucking, I don't know –" Harry sounds amused, and when George glances over, he's leaned back reading off a piece of paper. "– six people at once?"

"Well," Louis says thoughtfully, "There's you two. Zayn. Liam. Niall. I can find one more. Stan. No, definitely not Stan. I don't know. Josh."

"You are not going to fuck Josh in any sort of cage," says Harry flatly. George tunes them out to keep looking, dragging his fingers along the bars.

He likes, actually, that they're giving him a bit of space to breathe while he looks, sort’s things out.

It's when he's feeling the bars of a white cage and trying to figure out if they'd get dirty more easily when he sees it. It's between two other cages and it doesn't have daisies on it at all.

It's pretty in the same way he thinks Louis is, like, a bit girlier than manly things, but definitely still rugged and solid and just a smidgen flashy.

The bars of it are a dark brown, softer than black but not as soft as white, and it's got a square bottom that tapers into a domed top. There's only room for one person in it. One George.

It looks like it's modeled after a cage for a songbird, and George likes that a bit, because he's musical, too, and it's a bit – it just seems right.

He doesn't realize he's walking toward it until he's next to the cage, fingers flitting down to the latch to open it and step inside.

It's nice. Lovely, like getting bruises on his arms from Harry's fingers; weight but not crushing. Hard but not heavy. He tilts his head, watching Harry's head tip back to laugh at something Louis' said, and George smiles.

This is it. This is the one. He's fine in here, he's gorgeous, his mind feels thick like molasses and he sinks down to his knees, his fingers wrapped tight around two of the bars.

This is nice, a little home for a Georgie. Maybe they'll take it back to London with him already in it, curled up asleep on the floor.

The bottom of the cage isn't made of the same bars as the sides and top are; it's not soft but it's kind of springy, like a really solid trampoline. Oh, he could stay on his knees for ages inside here.

Harry is still laughing at Louis, and Louis is clowning around in the giant cage across the way, doing one of the dumb little dances that One Direction do onstage.

That's alright. George can wait in here for them.

He smiles. He can wait in here for them forever. This is a nice place.

He feels good in here, really good. There's something nagging at the back of his mind that he oughtn't take his clothes off, but Louis didn't say not to, so he's inclined to attempt it. But Louis didn't tell him to do it, either, and George isn't to do anything Louis hasn't said.

"Georgie?" That's Louis' voice. Maybe Louis will tell him he can take his clothes off. Louis does like it when that happens.

George smiles and looks up at Louis through the bars.

"Hello, little love," Louis says to him. He's smiling, too. "Have you found one you like?"

Has George found one he likes? He likes being called 'little love,' that's what he likes, and he likes Louis. He loves Louis.

Louis' asked a question, hasn't he. George should answer it.

He can fit his hand through the bars, but only up to a little past his wrist. He palms over Louis' thigh, and then his dick through his trousers.

"Ooh!" Louis squeaks and startles, jumping back a little. George frowns. "Alright then, is that a yes?"

George knows words. He knows lots of words, but it's like his mouth's not working correctly enough to use them.

"Please, this?" he tries. "Safe. This."

Louis smiles and sticks his hand in through the bars, too, reaching a little until he can cup George's cheek in his hand. "Yeah?" his voice is soft and fond. "Well, you look beautiful in it, Georgie."

He _feels_ beautiful, on his knees in his cage. It's not his cage, yet, except it is. It's perfect.

"Harry?" Louis calls. "Come over here, stop larking about. Get it? Larks? I think those are birds."

"Very funny." And then Harry's there, next to Louis, looking down at George in his cage. "Hey, sweetheart, found your cage?"

 _Harry_. George loves Harry; Harry has a tattoo on him just for George.

He feels bright. Bright and warm and _good_ , here in his cage. "Please?" he says again.

"Yeah, Georgie, of course," Louis murmurs. "Come here, I can hardly reach you."

Harry laughs quietly, and his hand appears through the bars, too. "Lou, don't you see it?"

"How it looks like yours?" Louis looks amused, too, as George nuzzles Harry's palm. "Yeah, I noticed."

George is bewildered for a moment. Harry has a cage? But Harry doesn't like this like George likes this, why would Harry have a cage?

Harry's hand disappears and then Harry's edging closer to the bars. He rucks his shirt up under his arms to bare his side. "Did you get your idea here, Georgie? Is that why you like this one so much?"

George had forgotten about that, about Harry's birdcage, tattooed above his ribs near his armpit. It looks remarkably similar, from the square sides to the domed top and the bars. It looks exactly like George's cage. George doesn't know if his cage looks like Harry's or Harry's cage looks like his, but they're the same cage. He's sure of it.

George beams and makes a little trilling noise, because yes, he likes that, living in Harry's ribs, tucked up close under his big heart.

"Monkey-bird, aren't you?" Louis crouches down, on eye level with George. "You want this cage, babe? Only, you're going to have to come out so I can buy it for you."

George's face falls and he mews a sad little whimper, curling up on the floor of the cage. This is _his_ cage, and he wants to stay here with Harry and Louis and they can carry him with them when they travel.

"Hey, little love," Louis whispers, his fingers touching George's knee through the bars of his cage. It's _his_. "Hey, it'll stay in Harry's house all the time and you can use it whenever you want."

George touches Louis' fingers, admiring them, rubbing the tips of his own fingers over the faint loops of Louis' fingerprints and the wrinkled ridges of his knuckles. Louis has really lovely hands.

He kisses Louis' palm and then hopefully licks the tips of his fingers, his tongue catching under the edge of Louis' fingernails.

Louis taps George's lip gently. "Silly boy. Not here, love."

But George wants, and he's feeling so nice, and he wants, he wants so much. He kisses Louis' finger and says, again, "Please?"

Louis runs his finger playfully over the top of George's nose. "Georgie, we can't here. They don't allow it."

Well, George doesn't want to get into trouble, he just wants to show his boys how much he loves them. And he wants to stay in his cage. But, but... but Louis says he's not allowed.

But he wants his cage. He wants, and Louis said, and he belongs here. It's nice and it's his and he feels very safe here, living in Harry's ribs.

"Hey, sweetheart." Harry's fingers fit through the bars to give George's hair a stroking, and he likes that. "Hey, you'll get your cage back, I promise. You've only got to leave it for a little while."

George's eyes are huge as he looks up at Harry. "You're – you, also. You're leaving."

Harry's eyebrows pull together a little. "I'm not leaving, I'm right here."

George wriggles a little at that because it's nice to hear, even if it's not exactly true. They are leaving, for ages and ages, and if he stays in his cage, then it's like they're keeping him with them while they're gone and he can travel around in the little cage like the one on Harry's ribs, everywhere he goes.

"Is there anything you don't like about your cage, Georgie?" Louis asks him. "Do you want thicker bars or bigger or smaller or anything at all?"

George curls up a bit and looks around. It's very nice in the cage, really, warm and a bit dark but not too dark. It makes him feel a little sleepy.

He likes the bottom and the bars and the height of it, and how wide it is. He pushes his hand out through the bars again to touch, because he wants to touch.

His hand finds Louis' waist and George flattens his palm over the curve of it, warmth radiating from Louis' skin beneath his t-shirt.

"So sweet," Louis whispers, stroking George's arm. "You're so sweet, love."

George whimpers happily at that. His heart feels too big for his chest; this is perfect, this is all he wanted, Louis and Harry and safety and quiet and protection.

"If you like your cage, I have to go pay for it or you can't have it," Louis says. He rubs his thumb over the crook of George's elbow. "They won't let me buy it with you inside."

That might be the saddest thing George has ever heard. He looks over at Harry to see if it's true.

"You have to come out for a bit," Harry confirms. "But once we're back home, you can stay in it whenever you want, I promise."

George whimpers and wraps his arms around the bars.

"I – Harry, can you try to help him a bit, while I go talk to them up front?" Louis asks. "I'd have you talk to them, but I'm not sure – "

"If they'd listen to me?" Harry finishes. "Me, either. I can, yeah, I don't really know what to say, but I can try."

"You're the best," Louis says, and he kisses Harry's cheek, then kisses his fingertips to press them to George's head through the bars.

George nuzzles into Louis' fingers as Louis retreats.

Harry bends down a bit so his face is on the same level as George's. "Hi, sweetheart."

Sweetheart. That's George, and Harry got George tattooed on him. He smiles at Harry. "Harry," he says happily.

Harry grins at him. "That's my name, don't wear it out."

"I love my cage," whispers George, like it's a secret. "I love it. Love it so much. Mine."

Harry keeps smiling and touches George's cheek lightly. "I can tell. Why's it so great in there, George? Tell me about it. Talk to me."

"Feels nice," says George. "Safe. Here, for you?" It's so hard to think when all he wants to do is bury himself in his floaty place. "Close."

"Oh, no, George, that was really good," Harry promises. "Come on, keep talking to me. I know it's hard, but you have to, 'cause I have to get you out of there. For Louis."

For Louis. George would do a lot of things for Louis. Anything, really. He'd do anything for Louis, and for Harry. Anything to make them happy.

"Louis," he whispers, delighted, enamored.

"That's right, Louis," Harry says. Harry understands, George thinks. Harry's fallen into Louis just like George has.

George nudges up closer to the bars so he's pressed flat against them, peeking out at Harry from under his fringe and between two slats of smooth metal.

"I know how much you like your cage." Harry gives George a quick kiss, fingers at George's neck. "We need you to come out of it, though. Not forever. Just for a little while."

George stares at Harry, not quite understanding. Why does he need to come out? They wanted him in it, didn't they, he was supposed to go in. 

Harry shakes his head and bites his lip. "Goddamn, you are beautiful in it, though. Look at you. Your eyes and your flushed cheeks and your fucking mouth and your little body. Jesus. I wish you _could_ just stay in it."

Then why can't he? He wants to, and Harry wants him to, and he looks good in it, he _feels_ good and he feels like he _looks_ good. He wants to stay in his cage.

Harry looks over his shoulder and steps a little closer to the bars. He flattens one hand over the front of George's jeans and when George's eyes flutter shut, Harry makes a disbelieving, soft sound through his nose.

"You're such a good boy," whispers Harry. He rubs, in a small circle, and George whines.

"You really do love it, don't you?" Harry murmurs. "Like your armor, isn't it? Being so good and beautiful in your pretty cage, but no one can touch you except me and Lou."

Yes, yes, that's exactly it. George isn't surprised that Harry could describe it better than he could, because Harry's smart and beautiful and funny and gorgeous and George's.

It's too hard to keep holding himself up anymore. George rests his head against the bars and just moans softly, letting Harry touch him and say sweet things.

"So pretty, our good boy," Harry says, sweeping George's hair out of his eyes. "You're so perfect, George, so perfect for us in your cage. You're so, so good."

George nods and pushes his hips up against the bars again, a little sleepily.

"Georgie, can I bring you out of your cage now?" Harry asks quietly. "Would that be green, yellow, or red? Being out of the cage?"

He frowns. He doesn't want to be out of his cage, but if Harry really, really wants him to be out of it... then, then he guesses he can be. He nods, sadly. "Green," he murmurs.

Harry smiles, so that must mean George has done well. "Good, sweetheart, that makes me really happy. And Louis, too."

The lock scrapes a little as Harry undoes the latch and crouches through the door to open his arms for George.

Harry's arms aren't George's cage, but they're almost as good. Warm and strong and holding him close, and George sighs, resting his head on Harry's shoulder.

Harry kisses the side of George's face. "Thank you, Georgie. Keep your head down."

George does, of course, and Harry backs out of the cage, half-carrying and half-dragging George with him.

It is a little easier to think, out of his cage, but it's also, well. Easier to think. George likes not thinking. He likes his cage. But he likes Harry, too.  
He clings into Harry's chest, pressing his face beneath Harry's chin to rest in the warmth of Harry's neck.

"That's so good, George. You've done so well." Harry rubs his back. "I'm sorry you had to leave your cage. Promise once we get home you can stay in it as long as you like."

It'll be ages before they're home, Harry's home. But it's better than nothing.

At least he's still with Harry and Louis. He, he managed before without his cage, and he can do it again. If he has to.

Harry keeps George close, rubbing his back and shoulders and murmuring sweet nonsense praise in his ear, until Louis comes back.

"Hello, lovely," Louis says, and then he's joined them, hugging George from behind. "I'm so sorry you couldn't stay inside, George."

George shrugs.

"But I have good news," Louis says, "They're going to fix your cage up a bit and send it off to Harry's house, and it'll be all put together and perfect by the time we're all in London together, touring, in February. I know that's a while, but is that alright?"

That's ages away, two months, two whole months without his cage. George wants his cage now, and if not now, then very very soon.

He talks mostly into Harry's shoulder. "How fix it?"

"Make the bars a bit farther apart," Louis says. "So it's a bit easier to touch you. Bit easier for you to touch us."

Well, that's alright. As long as it's still his cage and he can keep it.

"All paid for, though." Louis gives him a little squeeze. "It's all yours, Georgie. Your cage, just for you."

Harry helps George maneuver to squeeze his arms around Louis' waist. "Thank you."

"Of course. It makes you so happy, George, of course." Louis says it like there was never even a question of whether he'd buy it or not.

George mulls that over as best he can, but his brain doesn't even feel like it's foggy and white just now. It's like it's turned to solid gold.

"Let's get you back to the hotel, okay, babe?" Louis gives his bum a little pat. "We can take care of you there."

George looks up at Louis and he's so beautiful and so bright that it almost hurts George's eyes, makes him blink and his eyelashes are a little wet. "I want – I'll take care of you, too."

"You always take care of us, Georgie. And we'll always take care of you." Louis is smiling, fingers combing through George's hair. "That's how it works, isn't it?"

George nods and smiles into Louis' shoulder. He bites the cotton happily.

"So bitey," Louis teases. He strokes his thumb over George's neck, slow and soothing, and George wants to stay here for, well. A long time.

They don't let him get back in the cage, but they don't make George try to walk, either, and the three of them stand cuddled, pressed together, for a long time.

It's long enough that George can think, at least, even if he's still thinking slowly. At least he's thinking in more than _want_ and _need_ and _please_ and _thank you_.

His brain is still buzzing quietly, though, with the word _safe_ and really, he can only hope that it always stays that way.

"Thank you," he says again, in case Louis didn't hear him the first time. "So much."

"Hey." Louis' voice is softer than George has ever heard him. "Thank _you_ , Georgie."

Harry clears his throat. "We've got to get back, before we're missed. I only told Zayn to cover us for a while, if it's much longer, they'll notice we've fucked off."

"Oh, fuck them," Louis mutters. "I'd rather just stay here and look at George."

"Yeah, but we could be looking at George in our room." Harry pauses. "In our bed." He pauses again. " _Naked_."

Louis hums, weighing it. "That is a lovely place to look at lovely George." He pushes some of George's wild fringe back from his face. "Looks so good like this when he's all spread out for us, doesn't he, Harry?"

"He always looks good," Harry says, his voice close to George's ear. He bites it quickly. "You always look good."

George smiles and shivers. "I want to see it. What you mean." He looks up at Louis. "You did say, didn't you? You said?"

"Did I say it?" Louis' mouth is hitching up at the side. "I don't know, did I?"

George's heart drops and he nods enthusiastically, blinking and nosing against Louis' cheek. "You did, you said we could."

"Shh, you're right, darling, of course we can. Man of my word, aren't I?" He rubs George's back and kisses him right where he's flushed at the tops of his cheekbones.

George flushes from head to toe and bounces off his heels. "Now?"

"I think it'd be a waste of how good you look if it wasn't now, don't you, Harry?" Louis asks, raising his eyebrows.

Harry kisses the back of George's head. "I think this is one of your better ideas, Lou. Although to be clearer George, not _right_ now. But when we get back to the hotel, then."

With how much the idea of what they're about to do is affecting him, George wants to get on with it right then and there, fuck everything else. But if he has to wait, he has to wait.

He muffles a half-frustrated, half-needy groan into the slope of Louis' shoulder.

"Better leave now, then." Louis tucks his hand under George's shirt to rub his hip. "Like, now. Right now."

Harry nods, and when George looks up at Harry, his green eyes are a little wide and dark and wild, too, like he's lost in something nice. Something very familiar, and it makes George bite his lip and smile.

"Why did this place have to be in Brooklyn?" Louis grumbles. "I don't want to take the subway back, I want naked George."

"It was the only one with cages that were pretty," Harry reminds him. "All of the other cages were either scary or had electric things in them."

George shudders at the thought. He doesn't want a cage that also doubles as a, a cattle prod or something.

Louis kisses George's head. "Oh, that's right. I wanted the best for Georgie."

And he's got the best, his cage is the best cage in the world, George is sure of that. He spontaneously leans down and covers Louis' face in kisses, his cheeks and his nose and his forehead.

Louis and Harry both giggle at that. 

"So grateful," Louis praises. "Ridiculous boy."

George throws his arms around Louis' neck and hugs him as tight as he can. Grateful is an understatement, probably.

They rush out of the shop and back to the subway. Harry does detour them once, because, as he says, _ever since I mentioned ice cream, I've wanted a cone!_

It's not a terrible idea, and ice cream is delicious, so it's not too awful a detour, even if George really does just want to get back to the hotel.

He might lick his cone a little extra-suggestively just to make Louis and Harry squirm.

Might.

Harry does give George a piggyback from the subway station, though, so that's nice of him. George does so love piggybacks.

Mostly, he thinks, he likes the way Harry's body feels between his thighs, but if that's the real reason, then it's George's little secret.

"Finally," he hears Louis mutter once they're sequestered behind their hotel room door again. "Thought we'd never get back."

He starts pulling George's shirt up over his head, but Harry catches Louis' wrists before they get too far.

"Wait, wait, wait, just a second, we have to check in, and then I want to set up the camera."

"Photographer in the making," Louis jokes, rolling his eyes, but he nods all the same. "Yeah, you're right."

He steers George gently to the bed and sits him down on the edge before fixing George's fringe. "There we are, Georgie. How are you feeling?"

"Good." George smiles up at him, shrugging a shoulder. "Really good," he amends, because the thought of doing this makes him feel, well. Really good.

"Promise?" Louis asks, and sits down beside him while Harry putters around with the laptop. "What's your color?"

"Green," says George decisively. "Very green. Very good green."

Louis kisses George's cheek. "I'm really glad, love."

"Can I have a proper kiss?" George requests. He loves when Louis kisses him. Not that Louis isn't free with his kisses, but George feels more like he has to earn them, sometimes.

Louis sighs, twitching his mouth. "I don't know, love. I don't like to when you're so..." he waves his hand. "I feel like I can't properly take care of you if I'm distracted like that."

"Okay." George frowns a little, but he does understand. Sort of. He wishes he could kiss Louis all the time.

Louis gives him a gentle smile. "But I can kiss you anywhere else. Where should I kiss you?"

"Everywhere?" That seems to be the right answer to George. There's nowhere he wants Louis to not be kissing him.

Louis guides George down onto his back and props himself up over him. "Yeah? You don't wanna choose, you want me to choose for you?"

"Please." That's George's favorite, Louis choosing for him. He can already feel himself dropping back into his floaty place.

The bed dips as Harry knee-walks his way up the mattress.

"All checked in, all set up?" asks Louis, his eyes never leaving George.

"Mm-hmm." Harry's voice is deep and rough.

"Good. Help me give George a thorough kissing?" Louis trails two fingers down the side of George's neck.

"With pleasure," Harry says, and George giggles. 

Between the two of them, Harry easing George's shirt over his head and Louis working on the fly of his jeans, he's down to nearly nothing in what feels like no time at all.

He likes being naked for Harry and Louis. He knows they like to see him and he likes when people don't mind that he hasn't got clothes on. Louis settles himself down near George's feet while Harry is at George's head, and he guesses they might meet somewhere in the middle but he's too busy giggling to really think about it too hard.

"What's so funny, Georgie?" Louis asks, grinning at him from where he's hovering near George's waist.

"Not funny," he manages, shoving a hand over his mouth. "Happy. Can't help laughing when – I'm happy."

Louis eases George's jeans down over his bum, and George's cock twitches free from the denim, since they'd never given him pants. "What are you happy about, little love?"

George squirms with happiness at that. He really does love that name. "This. You. Everything," he sums up.

Louis kisses George's hipbone. "Are you that excited to watch yourself get fucked, love?"

George's heart rate feels like it skyrockets. "Yeah," he murmurs, biting his lip. He can't wait, he really can't. He's wanted a way to have them with him all the time forever and this is it.

Louis' mouth drags over the head of George's cock and George whines, hips shifting to follow as he moves his lips away.

He's so hard, and he doesn't mind a little teasing but he wants _something_ , when Louis is right there. (He wants everything, but he thinks something is enough for now.)

"Hey, George," Harry says gently, "Give us a smile."

George looks up and there's Harry, holding a little silver video camera. He waves at George gleefully.

He smiles at the camera because Harry wants him to, and then he can't help it: a tiny little laugh escapes. He's just so _happy_ , and this is all so much what he wants, all of it.

"There's the laugh," Harry praises. "George is so happy that he's gonna get fucked, isn't he? Aren't you, Georgie?"

"Really happy," he says. He can see the little reflection of himself in the lens of the camera, and when Louis' mouth sucks a lovebite against his hip, he watches himself gasp.

Harry turns the camera to face himself a second. "This is a reward for George being so good when we picked out his cage this morning."

George hums when he thinks about his cage, so pretty and perfect and he feels so nice inside it. "I love my cage."

Louis nuzzles into the soft space below George's navel and presses kisses there. "And we love you."

George's fingers run through Louis' hair, thick and soft and nice to pet. "And you love me," he agrees. "And I love you."

"Good," Louis murmurs. He touches Harry's wrist and turns the camera to face himself, getting George's hard cock in the frame, too. "We're going to make George come until he can't anymore."

A thrill rolls up George's spine. They hadn't told him _that_. Sometimes Harry and Louis like to keep him going until he just can't move anymore, but he's never actually come so many times that he can't _come_ anymore.

Louis keeps the camera trained on him as he leans down and licks over the head of George's dick, tasting the precome there.

He's always had a good mouth, Louis has, but it's somehow so much better when George knows that he's going to be able to watch this later, actually really see the way Louis' lips look on him.

He groans and reaches down to push his fingers through Louis' hair.

"No, no, you'll block the shot," Louis chastises gently. He kisses George's hipbone again and sets George's hands down flat on the mattress. "Keep them here, love."

George's hands fist in the sheets, and he nods, spreading his legs a little more. _Don't touch_ , he reminds himself in his head, as he lets the milky gold in.

"That's it," he hears Harry say, and the camera is on George's face again. "Look how lovely."

George blinks, slowly, and bites his lip. They're basically putting on a show, so it just makes sense not to hold back. He doesn't want to hold back. He wants to be good for them.

Harry's other hand runs through George's soft hair, pushing his fringe out of his eyes.

George sighs and cranes his neck so he can kiss Harry's hand, letting his eyes close again.

"Lovely George," Louis praises. He sucks lightly at the head of George's cock again and George's mouth falls open on a moan. "So responsive and needy. Georgie, I'm going to fuck you first. What d'you think about that?"

Louis almost never fucks George, prefers to get fucked and has as long as George has been with him. He's not bad at it, not at all, not in the slightest, but he's only ever been inside George once or twice and George is more than willing to have him again.

"Please?" he says, looking down the length of his body at Louis, between his legs. "I really, I really want you to."

"Hear that?" Harry murmurs to the camera. "So desperate for cock all the time, is George."

It's true, and George is, but he doesn't think it's unreasonable to be when he's spread out on a bed waiting for Louis to fuck him. That's not unreasonable at all.

He twists his hands in the bedclothes and shifts his hips, spreads his knees further so Louis can get between them.

"I'm going to open you up for me," Louis whispers, biting the inside of George's knee. "And then I'm going to fuck you until you come. And then I'll make you come again, until you can't."

George whimpers at that and looks up at where Harry's prick is bobbing out in front of him, too, hard and pink and shiny at the tip.

"Look at me." Louis' voice sharpens, just a little. "I want you to keep looking at me, Georgie. Don't even close your eyes, unless you need to blink."

George whimpers and bites his lips together, looking down at Louis between his thighs.

When Louis' fingers touch him next, they're slick and cold, and it makes George jump. Louis laughs, his fingertip stroking over George's hole, rubbing until it's not so cold anymore and then slipping a finger inside.

Harry hooks a hand beneath George's knee and pulls it up so the camera can get a better angle.

George feels open and exposed and needy, and he stutters a pained little moan as Louis' finger bottoms out.

"How's that, George?" Louis asks, his other hand rubbing circles on George's thigh. "Tell me how you feel."

"Good." George rocks his hips down against Louis' hand hopefully. "Want more, please?"

Louis smiles at him, and teases a second fingertip in, then out. "I'm sure you do," he murmurs. He twists his first finger, curling it a little as he pulls it out, just enough that it drags slow and filthy inside George. 

When his finger pushes back in, there's a second one with it this time, slow and steady until they're both in past the last knuckle.

George can't help the broken gasp that floods his chest.

"Such a good boy for me," Louis says softly, his fingers beginning a gentle rhythm. "You're always such a good boy, George. You look so good like this, I want you to see how good you look."

Curls of white softness spiral happily across the edges of George's mind, but now that he's seen how good he can really feel – how he felt in his cage – it's not quite enough just now; he wants, he needs them to _consume_ him.

The third finger is nice, though, a surprise, and Louis' pace picks up like he can see that George needs more, like he just knows.

He leans down over George's body and bites at George's neck to draw up a dark lovebite.

And that's even better, the sharp sting, the ache of it. That's more of what George needs, and he grinds out a moan, tipping his head back to encourage Louis to give him more, make him feel more.

"George, when you're watching this, you're gonna be amazed how gorgeous you are," Harry murmurs. "'Cause you never believe it, really, but basically you're just made of sex."

"He's made for it," Louis agrees, lips against the mark on George's collarbone. "Made for us, isn't he, perfect for us."

"Perfect for us," Harry agrees, and that makes George so pleased his hips jerk a little, his cock rubbing up against the soft-hardness of Louis' stomach.

"No, no, no, Georgie," Louis murmurs. "Be a good boy."

George is a good boy, he's very good, he can be so good for Louis. He relaxes, and he's rewarded with another lovebite, right above one of his nipples.

Louis smiles at George and his eyes glow. He's still moving his fingers in George, but it's almost slow enough to tease, in deep and curling gently to make George whimper.

It's... slower, than George is used to. Normally they're a bit more frantic, quick-paced and deep and good. Not that this isn't good, it's just, it's different, like Louis is being more careful with him. Or, thinks George, more likely, like Louis is being careful with himself.

"You looked so good in your cage, George," Louis murmurs. "Looked so happy."

He was happy in his cage, and he's happy here. He's happy wherever Louis and Harry are.

George nods, eyes shining. "'S'just what I needed. Thank you."

"Of course, love, anything for you." Louis removes his fingers, and George feels empty. He doesn't like it.

"Shhh," Louis soothes, kissing his way down George's front. "I've got you, George, it's alright."

That's right, Louis' got him, Louis' always got him. Louis is so good to George, and he knows what he needs.

Louis eases George's thighs back and settles down to lick at George's pink rim, testing that he's relaxed, opening him up more.

It makes George's eyes flutter closed for just a second and his hips rock, desperate, he needs to be filled, he wants it so _badly_ , and at this point the wet movement of Louis' tongue is just a tease.

Harry sets the hand not holding the camera down lightly on George's belly, rubbing soothingly.

"Hey, look at me, little love," Louis says, tipping George's chin until he's looking at Louis again, bright, beautiful Louis. "Gonna fuck you now, want you watching."

He slicks himself with one hand, the other still holding George's thigh, holding him open, and then he's pressing in, in, in-in-in.

George squeezes his eyes shut just so he can remember to keep his hands on the bed, because he wants, he wants to touch Louis, he wants to hold onto him so they don't float away.

They don't float away. George's fingers twist on the bed and Louis bottoms out and he's so thick and good inside George and everything is lovely.

Louis kisses George's neck. "That's so good, love. Make all the noise you want."

George's first instinct is to ask Louis for more, harder, faster, but instead he just sighs and murmurs happily.

Louis strokes his fingertips over George's ribs fondly, easing back almost all the way before pushing back inside. "Love your sounds, George. Wanna make you happy."

He does make George happy, Louis makes George so happy, happier than anything. George moans, his back arching a little, as Louis continues to push in, then pull out, steady but too slow, not enough. He needs _more_.

"Please?" he murmurs, arching his back, trying to pull Louis closer with legs wrapped around his thighs. Without Louis, he wouldn't be here; George is sure of it, he'd still – he wouldn't know himself well enough, wouldn't have made it through the show, wouldn't _be_ happy.

"Shh, love," whispers Louis, leaning in close to kiss George's head before he speeds up, his thrusts faster and deeper, just what George needs.

George feels afire already, shaky and gone and needy and messy and they've barely begun. He sets his mouth against Louis' collarbone and murmurs _thankyouthankyou_.

"Good boy," Louis mutters to him. "Such a good boy, George. Just like that, you're doing so well."

George murmurs at the praise. Yes, all he wants is to be good for Louis, he wants Louis to think he's perfect.

Louis does think he's perfect, or at least, at least he's said that George is perfect. He's not and he doesn't really think Louis thinks he is, but it's still a nice thing to hear. It's a nice thing for Louis to say.

Louis tucks his mouth down close to George's ear. "Such a good Georgie. You're just what I needed, you feel so good."

He pushes George's legs up enough that George can feel the strain in his thighs, and then he shoves forward, hard enough that George groans, loud and unmuffled, and then again because Louis doesn't stop, pounding in and out of him.

George's eyes are huge and black and emptyfull and shining and he looks up at Louis above him, glowing like something wonderful, a treasure.

"Hazza, are you getting this?" Louis asks, his voice breathless, his eyes on George's. "His face, can you see it on the camera?"

"Mm-hmm," Harry hums, leaning across Louis' shoulder. His cock brushes against George's arm and George groans with wanting.

Louis abruptly adjusts his angle and it's like stars exploding in George's head, like everything slots together and comes apart all at once.

Harry keeps the camera on George's face to get all of the shades of expression as he comes: his eyelashes flutter shut, his cheeks glow pink, his red lips part.

Louis doesn't stop, fucking George through his orgasm, hard, fingers gripping his thighs tight, until Louis comes as well, pushing deep and staying there so that George feels the wet oddness that comes with suddenly having spunk inside you.

He wants it, wants to keep it, wants them to plug him and curl up in his cage to keep them with him while he's so safe, warm, protected, with them.

They'd said, they'd said, Louis said they were going to keep going until George couldn't come anymore, and he stays true to his word. There's not even a break between George coming and Harry handing off the camera to Louis so that he can crawl into the bed with George.

Harry grins at him and looks a bit breathless himself. "Hi, Georgie. You look gorgeous, sweetheart."

George can't quite make words yet, but he can fumble a hand up to touch Harry's face, and he can manage a quiet moan.

Harry lets George latch onto his thumb and index finger, sucking at them messily.

"Like that?" asks Harry, feeding George another finger for him to suck on. "God, I want to watch you fall apart."

George nods as best he can with his mouth full of Harry's fingers and spunk cooling on his belly and sweat in his hair and fog in his head. Yes, yes, yes.

Harry leans in and bites George's bottom lip, hard enough to make it throb pleasantly. "Have you ever sixty-nine'd before, Georgie?" he asks softly.

George hesitates before whispering, "Not with a boy?"

Harry doesn't seem to mind, simply nodding and tipping George's chin up to kiss one of his lovebites. "I like having your firsts," he murmurs. "First sixty-nine with a boy, I'll take that."

George's heart swells and he tugs at the mattress again. "Yes, please. Love you."

Harry grins at him and shuffles around, swinging a leg over George's chest and then shifting back until his cock is bobbing tantalizing and tempting over George's mouth.

"Want a taste?" Harry asks, and the head just barely touches George's lip, painting a streak of precome across the bow of George's mouth. "Can't have it yet; just a little lick."

George licks his lips. He lets out a strangled groan, and tilts his head up to flick a kitten lick across the head of Harry's cock.

Harry rumbles a sound suspiciously akin to a purr. "That's it, George, just a little taste." He scoots back and kisses both of George's hands before carefully breaking his grip on the mattress. "You don't have to keep so still for me, sweetheart. That's it, you can touch, that's good." George clings gratefully onto Harry's skin as Harry lifts George by the hips and easy as a ragdoll settles him on his side. "Easier to reach this way, for me."

George's mouth is watering. He wants to suck Harry's cock, always wants to suck Harry's cock, but it's right there so close to George's face and he's not sucking it and that, he thinks, is a travesty.

"Got the angle, Lou?" Harry asks, standing on the mattress to turn around. He strikes a little pose when Louis follows him with the lens as an answer, and George giggles.

"Giggly boy," Harry says affectionately, as he drops back to the mattress. He pets a hand over George's hip. "Remember to breathe through your nose."

George gratefully and leans forward to purse his lips around the slit of Harry's cock, moaning at the splash Harry leaves on his tongue.

He can feel Harry breathe out a pleased sigh of warm air over his own dick and it's interesting, feeling someone's tongue on you while your tongue's on them. George likes it, like a circle of debauchery.

As soon as Harry's settled, George gulps down on Harry's dick happily, fitting half into his mouth on the first swallow.

"Careful, Georgie," says Louis, quiet but still a warning. "Don't hurt yourself."

George shakes his head happily and closes his eyes, just enjoying the weight of Harry in his mouth. Louis' free hand ruffles George's hair fondly, holding it out of his face so the camera can get a clear shot of George's blissed-out expression and stretched-wide lips.

He hopes he looks good. He feels like he looks good, at any rate.

Louis' fingertip touches George's lower lip, pulling it down and stretching George's mouth.

"Look how he's drooling for it," Louis murmurs to the camera. "Our Georgie's never happier than when he's got cock in his mouth."

George thinks that's probably true. There are other things he likes, being onstage and having a cuddle and getting fucked, but sucking cock is something he's good at, and something he loves, and a way to make people he likes feel good.

Harry's licking and kissing his way around George's, too, hardening him back up so quickly it aches, stings a little at the sensitive ridge.

"Looks top, lads," Louis whispers, leaning back so that he can get both of them in the shot. "Beautiful."

This is a different angle to the one George is used to. It's new and good and weird and amazing all at once.

He wants more than what Harry's giving him, little flashes of heat and wet and suction, but he doesn't want to hurt Harry or make him gag, because that's what he likes, not what Harry likes, and they're different, special, Harry's wonderful and perfect and lovely and good.

And good at sucking people off, even if it's not exactly what George wants. It's all teasing when Harry does it, mostly lips and sucking and the lightest touches of his tongue, a slow-burn blowjob.

George whimpers around Harry's dick, taking it deeper into his throat, letting it burn and hurt.

"George." Louis sounds firm. "Too much. Don't hurt yourself."

George shakes his head a little and sucks happily, humming. Harry fits his mouth down over the head of George's cock, too, big hands splayed out across George's little bum to hold him still.

He feels good here, tucked close and a cock to suck on. It's everything he wants.

Louis traces one finger over the bump in George's cheek. "So pretty. Let's go see what's happening with Harry, yeah?"

George likes the thought of that, knowing this is on tape and he'll be able to watch later, he'll be able to see Harry sucking his dick whenever he wants.

The bed ripples as Louis trods down it – when George peeks open one eye, Louis is on his feet, stepping down the length of the mattress like he's taking a stroll in the park.

He hiccups out a snorting laugh, which makes Harry release a really interesting sound. George wants him to make that sound again and again.

He'll bite Harry if he keeps giggling, though, so he slurps off and buries his face in the soft crease of Harry's thigh.

He likes this part of Harry, one of his favorites, even if it isn't the thigh with the tattoo on it. It's like a secret part of him that only George and Louis get, soft pale skin and smoothness.

Louis stops his jaunty little walk up the mattress and kneels down again, zooming in on George's damp face. "What's so funny this time, little love?"

"Happy," George says, his voice raspy as he looks up into the camera and grins. "Really happy."

Louis' hand floats into the frame and he brushes a knuckle against George's chin. "You've spit and come and sweat all over your face and you're _happy_?"

"Yeah, so happy," says George, sucking on the head of Harry's dick and keeping his eyes on the camera lens. He hums, flicking his tongue against it.

Louis groans appreciatively behind the camera. "That's it, that's the money shot. Good job, George."

He can feel another happy laugh bubbling up but he shoves it down, trying to focus on sucking and licking until Harry comes, because he really wants Harry to come.

Harry's mouth is bobbing, taking George's cockhead in for a suck and out again over and over.

Harry's lips are so soft and wet and nice and George's breath hitches. He leans back a little so that he doesn't actually gag himself, and wets his lips before he goes down again.

"That's it, my boys," Louis croons, praising them both. "That looks so good."

George wants Harry to finish on his face, wants to feel the wet warmth of it dripping down his cheeks and gunking in his eyelashes and he wants to lick it off his lips. He wants messy and dirty and good and hot and now.

George spares Louis a little look before inching his way down Harry's cock again, slow slow slow, gentle, careful, until his nose is pressed up against Harry's soft skin.

"Stubborn boy," Louis chides quietly, rubbing circles on George's shoulder with the hand that's not holding the camera. "Slowly if you insist."

George tries to hum and gags instead, throat tightening and fluttering around the thick of Harry's cock.

"Oh, God," Harry gurgles from down the bed, and his grip on George's bum tightens. "Georgie, close."

"Harry, make George come," Louis says, soft and firm, above them. "This is all about George, remember."

"Yes," Harry chokes, panting and taking a few obviously deliberate deep breaths. "Yes. Yes, for George."

One of Harry's hands slips around the narrow wing of George's hip and wraps around the base of George's cock, jerking fast and harsh at what Harry can't fit into his mouth.

It's rough and quick and just what George needs. It's hard to keep his mouth on Harry's dick when he can hardly think, can hardly breathe.

He slurps up and coddles the head, teasing the slit with his tongue, until he feels Harry's abs tighten.

Harry puts his mouth back on George, and the wet heat is too much, too much and just right, so fucking good, Harry's mouth is _so good_.

Just the tip of one of Harry's fingers on the hand still spread flat across George's bum moves, rubs lightly across the hole where Louis' come is seeping wetly out of George.

George spasms, and his hips jerk, and then he can't hold back anymore, his mouth slipping from Harry's cock and opening in a wet moan as he comes again.

He isn't used to coming so often – even before, when Harry and Louis have taken him to the limit, made him come over and over, it's been after a week of not coming at all, or barely.

Even though there are only drips left, it feels like, it's an exquisite feeling, the shaky ache of it.

"One more," Louis whispers, settling down on the bed beside them. "I think you've got one more in you, George."

George whimpers, still determinedly licking and sucking and kissing at Harry's cock. He can just barely see through wet eyes and his peripheral vision that Louis leans down and whispers something in Harry's ear, and that's what makes Harry's cock jump and spurt.

It's what he wanted, when George leans off a little, spunk painting his lips and over his cheek, and he has to close his eyes or risk blindness.

When he does peek one eye open a squint, the camera is right in his face and Louis is grinning like the cat who got the cream (a Harry pun if there ever was one).

He licks across his lip and tries to wink but he's pretty awful at winking so he's pretty sure he just. Blinks.

Louis giggles and reaches down to catch a line of come in the crook of his finger. "Beautiful, Georgie. But it's not time to rest yet, come on, budge up. Roll over onto your belly for me, please."

George breathes, his face still covered in Harry's come, and he feels winded but Louis wants him to roll over so he does, in a slow-motion flail that probably looks more ridiculous even than it feels.

Harry giggles raspily as he takes the video camera from Louis. "We'll put that part in the blooper reel."

"Bonus clips," Louis agrees, biting George at the base of his spine. "Alright, Georgie?"

George nods against the pillow, smearing it with come. "So good, please, Louis? Good?"

"Good boy, you're doing so good. You can come again for us, can't you?"

George mouths absently, the question too much for him to answer. He tries to find the words but they float through the gold fog in his brain like sand, slipping away before he can clasp onto them.

"That's what I thought," says Louis, and then his arm is underneath George's hips, pulling at him until George's arse is in the air but the rest of him's still on the bed.

George lets Louis move him just how he likes, because they just want him to feel good and he does; they're keeping him safe, and he feels that.

Louis kisses him at the base of his spine and then lower, and George groans brokenly, shoving his face in the pillow as Louis' tongue curls inside him where he's still fucked open and wet from Louis coming inside him.

It feels so good, different, than it has before.

"That's it, George," he hears Harry say, but it sounds soft and far away. "That's it, let us take care of you."

George can't do anything else. He sinks into the bed, sinks against Louis' mouth, lets them both swallow him up.

Louis is making quiet encouraging sounds against him, his mouth soft and coaxing, his tongue an insistent, wet pressure against George's hole. He's so exhausted and he feels like he couldn't possibly come again, but he knows that if he can, Louis will make him.

One of Harry's hands ruffles into George's hair, and he blows a stream of cool air against George's overheated neck just to make him shiver. "You look so good, George, jesus, I'm going to have a wank over this tonight 'cause I can't even stand it. You can watch, too."

George turns his head enough that he can peek out, see Harry's face. His own feels sticky and sweaty and disgusting, but Harry's still looking at him like he's made of diamonds.

Harry moves the camera from where it's trained on George's face and lets it peek between George's shaky thighs. "Getting harder again, such a good boy. You're so perfect, George. Love you."

"Ohhhfng," George says back, and even that catches in his throat.

He _is_ getting hard again, but it's difficult, like slogging through molasses, like he isn't even aware of his own body anymore except where Louis and Harry are touching him, looking at him.

"That's so good," Harry encourages. "That's so good, you're doing so, so well, Georgie."

Louis kind of hums against him and that sends a shock up all of George's nerves.

He sobs. It's not an exaggeration, it's not an expression, it's not even a little dry-groaning heave of breath, it's a genuine sob, tears streaming down his face.

They're mixing with the drying come on his face and he knows, he knows it's gross, it's really gross, but Harry licks his cheek anyway, giving him a sucking kiss at the point of his cheekbone.

"It's alright, Georgie." Harry rests the camera on the nightstand, pointed at them all three together. "You're okay. You're so good; you're our perfect. Just let Louis take care of you, alright?"

Tears are still leaking from his eyes steadily, but George nods, shaky, and he nearly howls when Louis' tongue touches him again.

He knows he's making too much noise, panting and gasping and almost screaming trying to choke the sounds out of his throat.

Neither of them tells him to be quiet, though. Harry pets his hair and Louis just keeps licking and sucking and biting sometimes and it's too much, it's _actually_ too much.

"What do you need, Georgie?" Harry murmurs, rubbing his back. "Are you yellow?"

He's not, he's not yellow, he's gold, he's made of gold, his entire fucking head is just made out of gold fog so thick he can't think, so think he can't see, so thick that all he wants to do is come and be their good boy.

So he just sobs _green, good_ and bites his lip so hard it turns white.

Once he's said it, Louis continues; he'd eased off after Harry asked his question, kissing George's lower back and the backs of his thighs. Now he dives back in, tongue stroking firmly, urging George on.

George can't catch his breath, whimpering and needing and not able to come.

"You can, you can do it, I know you can, sweetheart," Harry says to him softly. "Come on, sweetheart, come again for us."

George shakes his head. He needs it, he can feel it in his belly, but he _can't_ , he doesn't know how.

"Shhh," Harry murmurs, and one of his hands slips under George's chest to circle one of his nipples with his fingertip. "Shh, George, you can."

He can't, he can't do it, he just can't, he can feel it so close on the edge but he can't he can't he _can't_ –

"We've got you, George," says Harry, quietly, sweetly, his fingers in George's hair. "We've got you, you can let go."

Louis' tongue is so soft it feels rough as he licks it into George, one hand gently cradling George between his legs, not stroking or rubbing because it would be too much, just holding, gentle, careful, loving.

George fits, here, he snaps right into place like they're three pieces of the same delightfully kinky puzzle. His mind feels fuzzy, the screen of a snowy television and he doesn't black out but his entire body goes limp when he comes, dry, he's actually coming dry, and then he's not thinking anything at all.

It feels – too much, it feels so much it hurts but the hurt is chased by pleasure, good, hot, icy, soft, tickling, hard, buzzing, he feels _everything_ like radio silence.

And then there's just nothing, just George, like the entire world got switched off around him and it's just him here now. Him and Harry and Louis.

Warm weight settles on his sides and turns George over onto his back. "Shhh, love, that was so good. You're such a good boy, Georgie, love you so much."

He doesn't know who is talking but it doesn't matter because he knows, he knows they both mean it. They both love him, they think he's a good boy, they think he did so well.

He gets cradled against soft skin and lips press to the side of his neck, murmuring _shhhh, shhh, good boy, perfect perfect George_.

"Harry, can you get the camera and turn it off, please?" requests Louis quietly, and then one of the warm weights at his side leaves. It returns just as quickly, but George still feels cold and off balance while it's gone.

"Hey, love." Louis' voice is soft and cheerful and gentle. Cool fingers touch George's cheek lightly. "Can you open your eyes?"

George doesn't know. He doesn't want to open his eyes; he wants to just sleep and maybe have a glass of water. If Louis wants him to open his eyes, though...

He slits them open, just a little, enough to be able to see light but not much else.

"That's it, Georgie," Louis praises. "That's perfect." Soft lips press against his temple.

They keep saying he's done well and George knows he has, he did so well, he did exactly what they said to, came and came and came again.

The mattress shifts again and a damp cloth on his thigh makes George startle, crying out again.

"Shh, shh," says Harry. "Just cleaning you up a bit, didn't mean to surprise you." He kisses George's neck lightly. "Just let us take care of you, you did so well taking care of us."

George smiles a little at that, even though his lips feel absolutely raw.

Harry cleans him up as well as he can (without a shower George is going to feel sticky and achy for a while, and he's not getting up any time soon for a shower) and then gets another cloth, damp with cool water, to lay on George's forehead.

Harry kisses George's neck and George shivers. "Y'alright, sweetheart?"

He's slurring a little, but George manages, "Yeah, m'good," faintly. Louis rewards him with a kiss on the cheek.

"Good, Georgie, I'm glad." He rubs George's stomach fondly. "D'you need anything? Food, water, tea, bath, tea in the bath?"

"Water?" George requests, flapping a hand pathetically. "Don't think I'm. Moving any time soon."

"Okay, love," Louis murmurs, and kisses George's cheek. "Harry, could you get him some water?"

"Of course." Harry gives George's stomach another little rub before plodding off to the other side of the room to get one of the cups next to the tray of assorted instant coffees.

Louis noses at the side of George's face. "You're amazing, George, you know that?"

George laughs, rusty and quiet. "Thanks." He tips his head to the side to meet Louis in a weird nose rubbing kiss thing.

Louis cups George's cheek in his palm. "Can I kiss you yet, Georgie?"

"I want a kiss," says George hopefully, pressing into Louis' hand. "Please? Please, can I have a kiss?"

Louis thumbs over George's cheekbone. "Let me see your eyes first, love."

George squints his eyes open more, then the rest of the way when he can tell the light's dim enough that it won't hurt.

Louis kisses George beneath one eye. "Maybe after you drink your water."

"I want a kiss," George says, frowning. He hasn't got a kiss for so long and he wants one. He misses Louis' lips. "Please?"

Louis pecks the end of George's nose. "Don't you remember what happened last time I kissed you when you were under?"

"It was really nice?" George guesses. He remembers it being really nice.

"It was really nice," Louis agrees. He kisses George's shoulder. "It was so nice you made your pants all messy, and I don't think you want that right now."

George sighs. He doesn't even know what would happen if he tried to come again. He'd probably combust.

"It's okay, Georgie," Louis murmurs. "We have all night for kisses."

And that sounds positively beautiful. George smiles at him, and chances a kiss to Louis' chin.

"Good boy," Louis praises. He keeps rubbing soothing circles over George's belly, his chest, his arms, and it's making George sleepy. He doesn't think he actually needs to sleep, though.

"Water," announces Harry, curling himself back in bed and offering George the cup of water. "Took a little while to get it actually cold."

"That's alright," Louis says. "Isn't that alright, George?"

"Yes. Thank you." George gives Harry a smile, because Harry is sweet and brings him water and is seven different kinds of lovely.

Harry leans in and nuzzles against George's nose. "I love you, George. That was really, really amazing."

George laughs happily into his water and nearly gets some up his nose. "Love you, too," he coughs, clearing his throat.

Louis and Harry both chuckle and happen to kiss his face at the same moment, one on either side, and George shivers at his favorite place to be.

"Are you up enough to talk for a little while?" Louis asks, one hand splayed over George's ribs. "Or do you need anything else? Hungry?"

George shakes his head. "No, thank you. 'M alright."

"Okay, love. Was there anything you didn't like, just then?" Louis kisses his head. "Anything you wouldn't want to do again? Or, anything you want to do more?"

George tilts his head and it lands on Harry's shoulder. He keeps it there. "I liked, me and Harry at the same time?"

"Yeah? Good, I'm glad." Louis smiles but he also looks like he's grimacing a little. "I am. Too short, to sixty-nine with Harry. So it's good you can, or he'd never be able to combine sex and numbers."

George giggles at that. "The mathematics of sex."

"Sounds like the name of one of those weird documentaries you watch at two in the morning." Louis tickles under George's arm.

George squirms and giggles. "I probably have. I liked, erm. You talked to me a lot, during, and I liked that, too."

"You do like it when we talk to you more during, I've noticed that," says Harry on George's other side. "Which is good, because Louis isn't happy unless he's hearing the sound of his own voice."

"That's because I dirty-talk great, and you do it shit," Louis sniffs. "I talk great in general, and it takes you eighty years to say a sentence. Rude."

"I can talk fast when I want to," protests Harry. It comes out as slow as everything Harry says does, and George giggles, muffling it in Harry's shoulder.

He bites a little at the pale, unmarked skin he finds there, and Harry jumps.

"So _bitey_." He bites George right back, but lightly, on his wrist.

George startles at that, too, but his eyes go wide and fill up with damp. "My collar? 'S'gone?"

"Oh, dear." Louis keeps his voice light. "I bet it fell off in the bed. You were pretty acrobatic tonight, weren't you. Harry, d'you want to look for it?"

Harry dives underneath the sheets, miming like he's an Olympic swimmer, until only his legs are visible and the rest of him is all covered in cloth.

George is torn between wanting to giggle and needing to hold in pathetic little tears at the thought of his collar being gone, after all that. Of his collar not even being in their video.

"Got it!" Harry says, squirming out from under the sheet with his hair a mess and a black bracelet clutched triumphantly in his hand.

George holds his arm out immediately and is surprised when it shakes, his muscles all spent.

Thankfully, Louis catches it, and he holds George's wrist while Harry fastens it back on.

"Maybe we should get you a new collar," says Louis thoughtfully, in a quiet mutter. "Something nice and sturdy, that won't fall off."

George looks up at Louis with mooneyes. "I like mine. It's mine."

"It is yours," Louis agrees. "And if you got another one, that would be yours, too. But you can keep that one for as long as you want."

"Always," George mumbles petulantly. "Falls off a lot, though. I think – I accidentally broke it when I was out with my band, I think. It fell off in the van."

"Yeah, yeah. I'm not saying you've got to get rid of that one," says Louis. "Just, if you wanted one that fastened a bit better, we could get that for you. One that's nice and sturdy and simple."

George blinks. His eyelashes feel heavy, but that might just be all the come and tears dried in them. "Like what?"

"Hmmm," Louis hums, tracing over George's wrist. "We could get you one that matches your cage. Or one that looks like Harry's new tattoo for you."

George's chest fills with warmth. He has a cage. Harry got a tattoo for him. "Yes," he says quietly. "I'd like that, I think."

"Alright," Louis says. "When we get back to London. I'll look for one and give it to you the next time we see you, okay? And you can break it in the first time we play with your cage in Harry's house."

A new collar and his cage and seeing Harry and Louis again. It's all so good. George smiles at Louis. "Thank you."

Louis pauses and his blue eyes search George's face. "Ah, fuck it. Close enough." He leans in and kisses George's mouth.

George's mind feels like his brain's just had a mint or something, all over cool and soothing and calm, and he sighs against Louis' lips. He really, really likes kissing Louis.

Behind him, Harry leans in and rubs George's shoulders, finding the knots in all of his worn muscles.

"Oh," he whispers, the sound caught between his mouth and Louis'.

Louis makes a satisfied little sound and moves to kiss George's cheek instead. "Lovely little George. How about... you let Harry take care of your sore body, and I'll make some tea and find some food, because I'm starving, and then we'll watch back our little movie?"

"Yes," George agrees. He's a little embarrassed at the thought of watching what's essentially porn of himself, but he's sure it looks good. And he likes when Harry and Louis take care of him.

Besides, he wanted to make it to keep for when they're far away. If they want to watch it when they're all close, too, he can't begrudge them that.

The rewatch is as George expected, sometimes he cringes away from the image of himself but mostly he's just amazed, by how good they all look together, and how well they work. He blushes when Harry sometimes talks to the camera about how good George looks, or Louis will be muttering about how good he's doing like it's subconscious, but in general it's just, it's just. George is really glad he's going to have it while they're gone.

They have to sleep vaguely early to catch a plane the next day, and George doesn't sleep well. He doesn't want to leave here, where he can spend all the time he wants with Harry and Louis and nobody is disappointed in him and sometimes Niall Horan wanders into their room in his pants asking if anyone's seen his iPod. It's wonderfully weird, being around One Direction all the time, and just wonderful being around Harry and Louis.

He wakes up before even Harry does, and unlike Harry, he just lies there, between them, feeling them sleep. Harry mutters something under his breath and his brow creases, like something in his dream has insulted his tattoos or his cooking, and George touches Harry's forehead to smooth out the crease.

It's still ages away from when they have to go on tour. February, he remembers, but before that they've got other obligations, and so has George. Blair's trying to schedule them for gigs and even though George doesn't think he'll be their manager much longer, a gig's a gig. They need to do them if they want to be anything.

It does mean, though, that even if there are ages between now and February, he's probably not going to be able to spend much of it with Harry and Louis, and that – that sucks.

Harry's eyelashes flutter open, as always, just before seven. His pupils are huge and he looks more innocent than someone who's fucked George so many times in the last week should be able to look.

"Good morning." His voice, though, his voice is all sex this early, all deepness and rasp. "Up early."

George shrugs the shoulder Louis' head isn't rested on. "Couldn't really sleep."

"You can sleep on the plane, probably." Harry sighs, shuffling down the bed until his head's on the same level as George's. "Too many thoughts?"

George hesitates before nodding. "Kind of. Are worries thoughts?"

"Yeah, course they are. Worried thoughts. Have them all the time." Harry blinks owlishly. "What're you worrying about, sweetheart?"

George just shrugs again. Harry sighs and leans across George to push Louis' head down onto the pillow.

Louis makes a squawking noise and comes up swinging, thankfully far away from either George or Harry.

"Go back to sleep, Lou," Harry says, and Louis growls before pulling the pillow out from under George's head and coopting it as his own.

He goes back to sleep just like that, all the lines on his face relaxing, his brow unfurrowing. He looks so beautiful, Louis in sleep.

George smiles at him, even though it just makes him feel sad.

"I like looking at him when it's early like this," Harry whispers in his ear, one arm slung around George's waist. "Don't see him relax much, else."

It is beautiful, how much smaller and more – human, Louis looks in sleep. But it just reminds George that he won't get to see it again for months. At least months.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Harry asks. "You're all droopy."

"Pre-emptively lonely," George mutters, and burrows into Harry's chest.

"Sweetie," says Harry, soft and sympathetic. "That's ages away, why're you thinking about that now? We're still here for a long time."

He pauses. "Well, not here, New York, but here, with you."

George stays in Harry's chest where it's safe – tucked up against his ribs, near the tattoo of his cage (it is his cage, he's positive of that).

"We'll fly you out just like this, sometimes," Harry murmurs. "When you're not busy becoming the next big boy band. We'll have you come out and stay with us a few days."

"Really?" George asks. He doesn't want to look at Harry's face, just in case he's lying. It's a nice lie, if he is.

"Of course. We're not exactly looking forward to being without you," Harry reasons. "We want you with us as much as you can be. We'll call every day, too."

George sighs. "Can you not talk about when we're far away just yet? Just like, hug me."

"Of course, love. My lips are sealed." Harry presses said lips against George's neck, kissing him gently. "How are you feeling?"

George's voice is muffled. "Sore. But good-sore."

"I'm glad." Harry rubs his belly, cozied up behind George. "D'you want breakfast? I don't like taking planes on an empty stomach."

"I guess." Mostly George just wants to stay here. But he'll go with Harry, of course, he will. He'd stay with Louis if he didn't think Louis might punch the next person to wake him.

"We can just get room service. They make good coffee." Harry nuzzles behind George's ear. "Or so I hear."

George smiles a little. "Alright. We can do that, if you like. 'M not really hungry."

"Hey," Harry says gently. "You're not going to get, like, bad at eating again if we're gone, are you?"

George sighs, his smile slipping off. "I'm not bad at eating," he mumbles. "I'm just not always hungry."

Harry kisses his head. "Sorry, love. That's what I meant. You'll keep your appetite, won't you?"

"I'll eat when I'm hungry, if that's what you mean," George agrees. "I'm just not hungry now."

"Alright," Harry says. "Well, I might order up some extra toast, just in case. Airplane food is not lovely, even in first class."

"First class?" George asks, "Do I get to fly first class? I've never flown first class. I flew business when you brought me here."

"Yeah, that was all they had on short notice." Harry kisses the back of George's neck. "You'll be in first with us. Don't want you out of my sight until you've got to be."

George smiles. "Do the seats really recline all the way back in first class?"

"All the way back," Harry confirms. "And there's a champagne fountain. And a hot tub."

"I don't believe in the champagne fountain," George sniffs. "But I would believe you could get a flying hot tub if you wanted. You're One Direction."

"What use would we have for a flying hot tub?" Harry laughs. "Knowing us, we'd manage to flood the whole plane."

George giggles. "The Sun would love that." He pauses. "Do I have to like, wear a disguise when we alight at Heathrow?"

"We're probably going to figure out some way to keep you out of sight," Harry mutters, frowning as he sits up and yawns. "Not so clear on what that way is yet."

George's heart sinks. He knows it has to be this way, that it's best for everyone, but it's still sour. "Alright."

When Harry unstretches his arms from his yawn, he tips right over onto George, wrapping him in a massive hug. "Sorry," he whispers. "Tripped."

"Yeah, sure, and yesterday you tripped and fell into me a few times."

"And before that, I tripped and fell madly in love with you." Harry kisses him firmly so George can't even groan.

Louis does, though, rolling over like a ten-ton truck and batting cranky hands at them both. "Awful, Harold. _Awful_. Get out of my bed."

"Yeah, tripped and fell for you too, didn't I?" Harry sprawls across George to get to Louis, kissing his face and then his hair when Louis wails and buries his head in his arms.

George giggles. He gives Louis' bum, bared when the blankets went sliding, a fond pat.

"Demons," Louis insists, glaring at them beneath his arm. "Creatures that walk the _night_. Out, out, out of my bed."

Harry sits up, stretches again, and holds his arms out for George. "Want me to carry you to the shower?"

"Please," George says gratefully, but he still shrieks a little when Harry just heaves him aloft like he's made of balloons.

He _ooph_ s as he lands on Harry's shoulder, sore pink bum up in the air. "Very gentle, Harry. Thank you."

"You're welcome," says Harry cheerily. He settles a hand on George's bum and rubs soothingly. "Let's get you all cleaned up, shall we?"

George nods, flopping down over Harry's back and letting himself be hauled like a sack of potatoes.

They shower quickly but efficiently, and Louis joins them after a little while, still grumbling and rubbing sleep out of his eyes but affable enough.

He lets George get down on his knees one more time to lick him out before they're out of the shower, Harry already disappeared naked and dripping into their main room to let in the (most likely befuddled and disparaging) bellhop with their breakfast.

George still isn't all that hungry, but he accepts toast when Harry offers it to him, nibbling on it a bit sadly. "So, will I have to go to the airport in like, a suitcase or something?"

"False mustache," Louis says. George is perched in Louis' lap, two very nice arms around him. "Maybe a sombrero."

"I don't think I'd suit a false mustache," George muses. "Or a sombrero, really. I don't think I look very good in, like. Hats that aren't beanies."

Louis muses at that, fluffing George's hair around. "Bald cap?"

"Would his hair fit underneath?" Harry says doubtfully. "Maybe do his hair up like Jedward's. Doubt anybody'd recognize him then."

"Do not speak that name over breakfast, Harry," Louis says. "Liable to make me lose my appetite."

"Is there a no mentioning Jedward while naked rule too?" George asks curiously. "All sorts of rules."

Louis kisses the side of George's face. It feels a bit jammy. "Not in the same way."

"Oh, alright. Never had a threesome with Jedward?" George can feel laughter building but he shoves it down, trying to look appropriately solemn and apologetic. "Or – would it be a foursome?"

"It would be a _zerosome_ ," Louis says sternly.

"A never-some," Harry adds.

"Ah, I see." George nods. "No Jedward while we're naked and no naked Jedward."

"Correct in one," Louis says. "Now, please, Georgie, will you eat that whole piece of toast?"

George sighs, but crams the rest of the toast into his mouth. It's only a bite but it tastes like sawdust going down. He's missed the other boys, but he's not looking forward to being without Harry and Louis again.

Louis kisses George's ear. "Good boy."

"When's the flight?" George asks softly, setting his arms over Louis'.

"We have to leave the hotel in about an hour, and then spend like three hours in customs with all the luggage, and then fly out for nine hours, and basically it's the whole day."

"Sounds awesome." George leans his head back against Louis' shoulder. "Will I have to be in my sombrero and bald cap the _whole_ time?"

"Probably unless we're actually on the plane," Harry says apologetically.

"My head's going to get sweaty," George groans, and Louis' arms wrap around him tighter. "I don't want a sweaty head."

"Well, we'll see if we can just find you a nice pair of sunglasses and a beanie and maybe a big scarf, then."

"I think I'd probably like that better." George relaxes a little. "I don't like it when my head's sweaty."

"I'm trying to make that a dirty joke, but I can't quite make it," Harry says ruefully.

"I appreciate the sentiment." George blows him a kiss.

Harry beams and sops up some runny egg yolk with the last of his toast. "I suppose we should pack up."

Louis grumble-wails. "I refuse. I didn't get famous just to have to do my own packing."

"I'll do your packing but you won't like it when toothpaste ends up all over your shoes again," Harry warns as he stands up.

"Well, just _put the cap on_ before you stuff my toothpaste in my shoe!" Louis lifts George up with him and drags him to the bed. George hasn't had to walk a step all day; it's been fantastic.

They watch Harry pack from the bed, with Louis commenting on Harry's placements and George stifling giggles. It's all very nice. Soft.

Louis never stops touching George, either, rubbing over his arms and front and back and the tops of his thighs, over the little rounds of his bum. It isn't even really sexual, it's just calming. Reassuring.

And George needs reassurance right now. It's good that Louis knows, or can sense it, or however he does what he does.

Harry's nearly finished packing, three outfits set on the table that Louis dictated for the three of them to wear, when there's a knock at the door.

"Who is it?" Louis sings, skipping over to the door and looking out the hole. "Do you have the password?"

"Louis, it's me." Liam sounds long-suffering, although George doesn't think he's seen Liam at all since the concert, and he must be on the same loved-up sex hangover as the three of them, now that Danielle is back. "We have to go down to the vans. Are you dressed?"

"Nearly. Give me two minutes, alright?" Louis says, leaning against the door. "There's a password for a reason, Payne. Nobody's used the password at _all_ and I'm cross about it."

"Your password's disgusting," Liam replies through the door. "Be downstairs, clothed completely, in ten minutes or less, Tommo."

"Define completely, and only if you use the password, otherwise I'm putting my dick on your head," Louis challenges.

"Please don't put your dick on my head." Liam is pleading, but Louis doesn't even start getting dressed. George, though, lets Harry shimmy a t-shirt over his head.

" _Password_ , Payne." Louis folds his arms even though Liam can't see him. "Or I'm going to find out how a shaved head feels on my balls."

Liam groans. "Can't you just shave George and find that out?"

" _How very dare you_ ," Louis says, sounding scandalized. George is fairly scandalized himself.

Harry kisses George's knee as he eases soft sweatpants up George's legs. "We won't shave your head," he promises. "Or other parts of you."

"Good," grumbles George. "I don't want to be shaved. I don't even grow hair on my face yet."

Harry grins at that. "I barely do, either. Mostly one of those sixth-form mustaches."

"Bummer. You'd look dashing with a mustache." George smiles at him.

"He looks like he's been drinking hairy chocolate milk," Louis says, smug smirk on his face as he rejoins them. "Hazza, I got Liam to say fingerbang."

"That's not such a bad password," George says. "I was expecting it to be something like 'anal leakage' or something."

"It was but one part of a much longer password, love." Louis' smirk widens. "But fair's fair, we have to be dressed and downstairs like, now."

George spends the next ten minutes trying to guess the password as Harry finishes dressing him – even ties his shoes for him – but eventually gives up and just goes with _Misfits_. "Monkeyslut is blown... fingerbang?"

Louis seems delighted. "I admire your initiative, but no. Dare I say... No monkeysluts were blown in the making of this password."

George groans and Harry swats Louis' behind. Louis just tears out of the room, shoes in hand, and they can hear his feet thumping down the hall as he runs to the elevator without them.

"God, I love him," Harry mutters, and he looks the sort of fondly exasperated George knows comes with really loving someone even when they're the most ridiculous person in the world.

George knows because he feels the same way.

"Come on, before he beats us into the car and won't let us in without the password," Harry sighs, tugging their luggage behind him. "He's got a different password for everything and I can't keep track of any of them."

George picks up one of the suitcases, although none of them are his, and heaves it along behind him, jogging behind Harry to the lifts. He _is_ very sore, all over his body, but he also doesn't want to have to dirtytalk in front of One Direction and a quarter of Little Mix just to be able to sit in the van.

They make it in time (sort of; Louis gets into the car before them but when he tries to make Harry say the password, he just gets thrown over Harry's shoulder with a shout) and then they're all trundled off to the airport together, and the farther they get the worse George feels.

Perrie leans over the back of George's seat and rests her chin on his shoulder. "Hiya, Union George."

"Hiya, Perrie Mix." George leans his head against hers. "Have you had a fun time in New York?"

"I did, yeah, me and Zaynie and Liam and Danielle went to go see a few shows. There's a massive store of just M&M chocolates, as well, and I bought a ton. D'you want some?"

"I'm alright," George declines. His stomach feels a bit too dodgy to even attempt chocolate. "Thanks, though. Did you get ones with little Ps on them for Perrie?"

"P's and Z's," Perrie reports. "And M's, because y'have to."

"You do have to," George agrees, smiling to himself. Perrie is so nice to just talk to, and he didn't really get much opportunity after that first day. "I'm glad you had a nice time." He kisses her cheek, and gives her a grin, because she's made him feel a little less shit.

She pats his chest. "How was your trip? Do anything fun?"

George can't help it; he laughs. "Er, yeah," he says, trying to recover. "Did loads of fun things. Like, at least two."

Perrie's jaw drops in mock surprise. "I see what you did there. Very tricksy, George Shelley. And rather dirty. My innocent ears will never stop burning!"

"You've never had innocent ears," says Zayn from beside her, reaching up with the arm he has around her waist to tweak her ear. "You certainly haven't got any now."

George wrinkles his nose. "Did you fuck her _ear_? We don't even do that."

Zayn looks at him a little like he's not sure George is a real person, but his mouth is twitching at the corner and George feels a little like blushing on principle. Just because Zayn Malik is looking at him. "Er, no, not that I remember. Pezza?" Zayn asks, tilting his head to look at Perrie. "Any earfucking lately?"

"What?" Perrie cups a hand around her ear. "I can't hear you."

That just makes Zayn put his mouth _on_ her ear and she bursts with laughter, batting at him and squirming. It makes George smile and he feels Louis grab his hand from the seat next to him.

The rest of the day passes largely in tedium, although George does get to have several coffees from the airport Starbucks.

He knows that the longer he's there the shorter the rest of the time he has with Louis and Harry, so he barely lets them leave his sight.

Fortunately, they seem to have the same idea. His waist scarcely doesn't have at least one arm around it.

And even if he's all covered with a scarf and a beanie and frankly ridiculous glasses, the airport is cold enough that he doesn't get a sweaty head.

He rings Jaymi from the airport to let him know what their return plans are, but he says that Louis had already e-mailed them to him.

"Oh," says George, slightly surprised even though he probably shouldn't be. "I'll have to thank him, then."

"I should hope so, since he flew you out on a luxury vacation," Jaymi laughs. "Wish we'd all got one. But I'll see you tonight and you can give us all a cuddle and tell us about it. Ella's coming back to the hotel tonight as well."

"Really?" George perks up. He hasn't seen Ella in what seems like _ages_. Actually, he hasn't seen Jaymi in ages, either. "That sounds lovely, yeah. I don't actually know what time we get back," he admits, "but I bet it'll be in that e-mail, so you'll know."

He rings off with Jaymi and turns to Harry, beaming. "Ella's back tonight!"

"Oh, that's great!" Harry smiles at him. "You haven't seen her in a couple weeks, have you? That'll be awesome to see her again."

George nods happily, then hesitates. "Am I not coming with you tonight?"

"Do you want to?" Harry asks calmly. "Or do you want to see Ella, and your J’s? It's up to you."

George hasn't – he hasn't actually had to choose anything in a week, besides his cage, and he thinks privately that his cage chose him, like a wand in Ollivander's. He doesn't really remember how. And he doesn't, really, want to.  
"Hey, hey, hey," says Harry. He tips a finger under George's chin. "What's got you looking all stormy? Or," he amends, "I think you look stormy. You might look cheerful. It's hard to tell."

George pouts his worst and looks up from beneath his brows. "This is me frowning. I can frown."

"No, that's you looking like somebody I want to kiss." Harry touches George's lower lip with his thumb. "Which is probably the same thing."

George doesn't even smile at that. "I don't want to choose where to go. I want to _know_ where I'm going, and who I'll be with."

Harry hesitates. "I don't – if I tell you to come with us, you will. And then you won't have as much time to spend with your friends, and I'll feel guilty. But if I tell you to go with them, I don't want you to feel like we're rejecting you, or abandoning you."

George bites the inside of his cheek. " _You_ could come with _me_."

Harry slowly raises his eyebrows. "Do you, is that, I mean. Is that what you want?"

It is, probably, George thinks. He's had a glimpse into their lives, their lives outside of the bedroom with him, and he thinks, maybe, it'd be nice for them to get the same. It might make them all feel a little more secure for the upcoming year, won't it, especially since Louis – though he'd never admit it – is still jealous and worried about Jaymi.

He doesn't even have to say anything before Harry is clapping a hand to his shoulder and muttering something about talking to Paul before he spirits away.

George leans his head back against his seat. He wants to take his sunglasses off, as they're making him sleepy, but he'd been warned in no uncertain terms that they were to remain on until they were in flight with the privacy screens shut.

Maybe he'll just sleep here until Harry comes back or Louis returns from his trip to get something to drink. Except he's in an airport seat and he's about as uncomfortable as he's ever been.

Harry lands heavily in George's lap, signalling his return. "Paul says it's alright!" Harry informs George, grinning.

"Really?" George asks, the smile returning to his face. Longer with Harry and Louis is exactly what he wants, and now he can have time with Ella and his J’s, too. "It's okay?"

Harry nods. "We're all rehearsing at the same place tomorrow, so he says it's fine. But don't kidnap us."

"I'll try my best not to," George says dryly.

Harry grins and kisses George on the cheek, so swift and fleeting that there's barely a hint of warmth, much less the solid press of lips.

It's enough, though. It's enough to get him until he's on the plane.

When they're finally allowed to board, George chooses a seat beside Louis, with Harry across the aisle.

"How are you enjoying your first class experience?" Louis asks him, his seat belt already folded, head tilted onto George's shoulder. "Sorry, guess this one doesn't have a champagne fountain."

George makes a face. "I don't believe any of them do."

They are _served_ champagne, but none of them are actually allowed to take any because they aren't over 21, and they're still technically in the United States. Danielle, though, gets a glass and makes a big show of drinking it.

"You're a cruel woman, Peazer," grumbles Harry. "I'd give you some. If I had any. And you didn't."

"Are you suggesting I provide a _minor_ with alcohol, Harry Styles?" Danielle looks aghast. "That is a crime akin to murder, I'll have you know. In these here United States."

"Worst country," Niall grumbles, his head buried in his arms.

"I don't know," says Louis airily. "I think there are some things you can only get in America. In New York."

"Cu'tom'i' M-eh-M's," Perrie supplies helpfully, her mouth full of chocolate and candy coating.

"Exactly what I was talking about." Louis grins at her. "You know me so well, Perrie."

Perrie swallows and grins. "Got your back, babe."

"And my front. You've got all of me." Louis breaks off into a half-shouting rendition of 'I Got You Babe' with the lyrics switched around until Zayn lobs an airsick bag at him.

George smiles in spite of himself and looks down at his feet.

The rest of the flight goes much the same way, with Louis performing songs at twice their original volume and Zayn throwing things at him until he shuts up.

Harry naps for about half the flight, too, and then spends a while showing Danielle and George three months' photos of Lux, because Danielle had missed them and George had never seen them.

He doesn't stop smiling the whole time, and that means _George_ can't stop smiling, either, because it's really hard to not smile when Harry's smiling.

It's amazing to George how _many_ Harrys there are. There are a few Louis, too, but they all look alike to George – he wants to impress every Louis he's seen, and make him happy and be special to him.

With Harry, there's a Harry George wants to impress, and a Harry George wants to be mates with, and a Harry George wants to have dirty sex with, and a Harry he wants to take him to the cinema and make out with him the whole time, and a Harry he wants to keep in his pocket and pull out whenever he's feeling down on himself.

He wants to be special to all of them, too, but they don't intimidate him, mostly. So long as he doesn't remember that they're all _Harry Styles_.

There's a Harry who is Harry Styles, too, but George doesn't see him much.

Halfway across the Atlantic Ocean, there's a Harry who is asleep on George's lap, too, spread out across the aisle with his big feet beneath his own chair and his bum on the aisle and his head in George's lap.

And there's a Louis leaning on George's shoulder who sounds halfway to sleep himself, his words all mumbled against George's shirt and his fingers slowing as they card through Harry's hair.

George wants to keep them. He wants to put _them_ in a little cage and carry it around with him like one of those eccentric old ladies with a load of pet budgies.

But he'll settle for this, Harry in his lap and Louis against his side and what seems like a million miles between them and everything else.

Once they land at Heathrow, it's immediately clear that Harry and Louis belong to the world again, not to George.

Even just the smiles on their faces are a bit off, just a little different than when they usually smile.

"We've got to do the whole – popstar thing, for a little while," Harry says to him, stroking George's hair back. "But we're going to see you again soon, and we're coming over to yours."

George nods, haltingly. He can see now how Harry fell apart after a year, because after only a week, he can't quite bring himself to move his feet on his own and go somewhere without Louis directing him gently, a little firm voice in his ear.

"We'll see you again so soon," Louis tells him, rubbing George's back. "So, so soon. You won't even notice there's been any time gone at all, actually."

George frowns, and knows that it's true – only a matter of a few hours, and he even gets to see Ella in between – but he still wishes. He just wishes; he wishes he'd tried out when he was 16 and were in One Direction, he wishes that he could kiss them goodbye, he wishes that they were just a smidgen less famous.

Louis kisses his neck quick as a flash. " _So_ soon, little love, I promise."

George shoots him a smile, and then his mobile is buzzing with an impatient text from Josh across the terminal, and he has to go.

"I'll see you," he says, a trifle frantically. "Love you!"

"Love you, too," Louis calls, turning away to jabber at Paul about something with their luggage.

George has to practically run across the terminal or he knows he'll never make himself leave, and he needs to leave. He can't go with them, but he'll see them soon. Really soon. He'll see them really soon.

So he runs across the terminal, and it's a bit murder on his sore muscles, but it does get him – up, a bit. Back to himself, back to Union George.

When he sees Josh, he just does what his first instinct is to do: he throws his arms around him in a hug. He did miss Josh. He missed all his J’s.

"Whoa!" Josh staggers back a few steps before tentatively circling an awkward arm around George and patting his back a few times. "I ought to punch you for leaving the hemisphere without telling anyone."

"Punch me later," George mumbles. "No punches during cuddles."

"I didn't ask to cuddle you," Josh points out. He doesn't let go, though, and George considers that a win.

"Thanks for coming to get me," he says against Josh's shirt. "Sorry I left the hemisphere without telling you."

"It was stupid," Josh says gruffly. But, George thinks, he sounds a little glad to have George back.

He makes Josh tell him what he's missed on the way to the hotel, and as it turns out, the answer isn't much.

"Rylan's likely to be on Celebrity Big Brother," Josh says. "And Ella's performing at some awards show for television."

"What about television?"

"Just... television, an award for television," Josh says. "I don't know. She and Nicole are going."

"Has Nicole done anything mad?"

"When isn't Nicole doing mad things?" Josh rolls his eyes. "Not noteworthy mad, I don't think."

George sighs and rests his head against the window. "It'll be weird in a different room at the hotel."

"Oh, but you'll have the dulcet tones of Jaymi's snoring to lull you to sleep," Josh reasons. "I know you've missed them."

George smiles. "I have, a bit."

"Don't–!" Josh says quickly. "If you're going to get soppy I'm moving down a seat."

"I'm not allowed to have missed you lot?" George asks. "But we're Union J. United. J's. I was missing, severed from the union."

Josh sighs heavily. "Fine. Fine. I suppose I did miss you, a bit. Nobody jumping on me for a random nap. I actually got used to personal space."

"I can relieve you of that," George offers, kicking Josh's ankle across the way.

Josh sighs again, then narrows his eyes at George. "... Oh, fine. Come here, then, you monkey."

George smiles and shuffles across the seat to rest his head on Josh's shoulder.

They're quiet for a while and then Josh says, "Your last hurrah with them before you're separated, huh?"

"Sort of," George mumbles. "They're coming over for a bit tonight. Just to hang out," he assures. "Not for anything sordid."

"I know," Josh says. "Jaymi told me. Just, like, did you have a good time?"

George smiles, weakly, but there. "Yeah," he whispers. "Yeah, the best time. It was really, really great."

"Good," Josh says roughly. "It was, we were about you. How you'd take it. So I'm glad you had a good cheer-up." He pauses. "I bought a kitten."

George's head nearly shoots up. "A kitten?" he exclaims, one of his hands waving about and almost hitting Josh in the face. "Like a proper, a little, a _kitten_?"

Josh nods. "It has yellow eyes and I've called Oreo. Like the biscuit."

"Can I play with it? Can I hold it? Can I tell it bedtime stories?" George is bouncing in his seat. "Can I post pictures of it to Instagram?"

"Yes, although I've start him his own Instagram," Josh says. "I got 'hashtag-meow' trending."

"Moving up on the ladder of popstardom." George quirks a smile at Josh. "I want a kitten."

"You are a kitten," Josh shoots back, but it's with the hint of a crook-toothed smile.

" _I_ ," says George, tipping his chin up regally, "am a _monkey_."

"Potayto, potahto," Josh says.

The rest of the way back to the hotel is a bit quiet, but nice. Josh lets George cuddle him from the side and George gets to hear all about Oreo the Wonder Cat. Not Josh's name. George thinks it's tremendous.

As soon as they walk into the lobby of the hotel, a cannonball hits George around the middle and knocks him flat to the floor.

He didn't even know they still made cannonballs, and he has a fleeting moment of wondering whether or not he's dead before he realizes they probably don't have ceilings in death.

" _George I'm-just-calling-you-Alistair-as-your-second-name-forever Shelley_!" Ella keeps clinging onto him from where she's landed on his legs. "Don't you ever again forget to tell me you've left Europe!"

"I think you broke my legs," says George bleakly. "I can't ever forget to tell you anything ever again, I think. Or you might break my arms."

"Too true, I will," Ella says. She sits up across George's knees.

"Come give me a hug," George commands. "I haven't seen you in ages and my arms aren't long enough to get you from here."

Ella shuffles down and rests her head on George's chest. He spits quite a lot of hair out of his mouth before saying, "Missed you, Ellabear."

"Missed you, George Monkey," Ella mumbles against his shirt. "Don't ever do that to me again."

"I won't, I won't," George assures her. He gently moves her hair back over her shoulder again. "I don't know that I'll ever be so upset I have to be flown halfway across the world again, really."

"Is that what it was?" she asks seriously, leaning up to look him in the eye like they're not on the floor of the hotel lobby. "You were so upset that you couldn't be here anymore?"

"No," George says. "Not really. A little, but not – I also just, they offered, and it was. I don't know. I had a really good week. I was really happy."

"Then I'm glad. That you got to be happy," Ella replies. She squints at him again. "Last time you got this happy and then came back here, you had your – they broke you."

"I'm not gonna break," George assures her, and saying it out loud, it feels true.

"You better not," Ella says forcefully. "Jaymi said they're coming to join us tonight?"

George nods happily. "Yeah, they're just gonna hang out."

"Good. And no funny business. Unless you really really want to have funny business." Ella finally stands, holding her hands out to help George up. "Then I guess it's alright."

George giggles. "I honestly couldn't have funny business today even if I did want."

"Well, that's always lovely to know." Ella pats him on the back. "Thank you for telling me."

Beaming, George leans down and bites at Ella's shoulder. "You're welcome."

"The way you express your affection by biting people is weirdly endearing," says Ella conversationally. "You're like an overexcited puppy."

"Josh got a kitten!" George exclaims. "Did he tell you?"

"Are you kidding? He won't shut up about it!" Ella grins at him. "Reminds me of you, the little thing. Feisty."

"You've met it?" George asks, and pouts. "I'm jealous."

"I didn't go bounding off to North America this week, either, did I?" Ella asks primly, as they set off toward the elevator. "Plenty of opportunities to meet people, and kittens, while you're not in America."

George scowls at her playfully, nose wrinkled. "If I'd known there would be a kitten, I wouldn't have gone."

"Really?"

"No," George laughs shortly. "I got to have loads and loads of sex; of course I'd've gone."

"See? So you got to do loads of things I didn't get to do." She ruffles his hair. "Like One Direction."

"That's true," George says. "Liam and Danielle got back together, by the way. I'm sorry you missed your window there."

"Darn, and I was so sure I was in with a chance." Ella rolls her eyes. "There can only be one of us dating One Direction and I was fairly sure it wasn't going to be me." She pauses. "Though, if Niall's not taken yet–?"

"I don't think he is," George confirms. "We can do some digging tonight."

"Always did like his accent," muses Ella.

George smiles. "He's nice. Nosy. But he's nice."

"Nosy nice Niall." Ella nods, her mouth twisting to the side. "I could work with nosy and nice."

"You could, since you are as well." George pokes Ella's ribs, and she squawks as she unlocks a room that, upon entering, is presumably hers since it looks like a sequin factory exploded. Well, hers or Rylan's, then. George's voice softens as he catches her around the waist in a light embrace. "How've you been?"

She shrugs, and twines her arms around his neck in return. "Alright, you know. Everyone I've met seems shocked I got voted off so soon, and it's like, I know they mean well, but... doesn't change it."

George smiles sadly. "It proves it was a fluke, though. An accident."

"Or I just meet really nice people." Ella smiles back at him. "I really am okay. Been in talks with some people, so it's not all bad."

George leans in and kisses her nose lightly. "I know, I read in the news. I'm really proud of you."

"I'm proud of you, too, you know." Ella wrinkles her nose at him. "It's no small feat, fourth place. You've done really well."

George grins. "Thank you."

Ella leans in and kisses his lips, quick as a wink. "I never thought, at bootcamp, that we'd be here at the final together."

"I knew you'd be here." George pokes her in the cheek. "Thought I'd be watching you on the telly at home."

Ella shrugs and goes pink before nestling under George's chin. "No way to tell, is it. The X Factor was a big adventure."

"And now it's almost over," George murmurs, rubbing her back. "Weird. All that, and it's just going to end."

"And it's going to end with _Christopher_ ," Ella groans. "That's the worst part of the whole thing."

"It really is," George laughs, shaking his head. "I've got faith in J’s, though. I think we'll have an all-J top two."

"God, I hope so," Ella says. She gives him a squeeze tight enough that George squeaks.

"Speaking of J’s," starts George, "where are my other two? I know I had three."

"Jaymi is supervising JJ unpacking," Ella reports. "Doesn't trust him."

"I wouldn't, either." George winces. "Shall we go be supervisors with him?"

"Okay!" Ella chirrups, grabbing George's hand. They gallop out of the room and make it about halfway down the hall before running smack into James and Rylan.

"No running in the halls, children!" Rylan exclaims, catching both of them in a hug. "Have you both got shorter?"

"Maybe," George says, because maybe he did; he doesn't remember Rylan being _this_ tall.

Rylan peers at him curiously. "You look better, little monkey boy," he says, sounding satisfied. "I'm glad."

George goes pink. "Better'n what?"

"Better'n you were. You know better'n what, don't lie to your Uncle Rylan." Rylan gives his head a quick pat before he and James continue down the hall.

Their elbows are linked. It makes George feel glad that James found a Rylan, and seems to get to keep him.

But then, he reminds himself, he's got an Ella. And a Jaymi, and a JJ, and a Josh. And a HarryandLouis.

Jaymi gives George a massive hug and a massive lecture as soon as he sees him.

"Next time you are going to text me, _and_ call me, _and_ e-mail me, _and_ write me a note, do you hear me?" he says as he has George in a hug so tight that George finds it slightly difficult to breathe. "And then send me a back-up text."

"Shrmupt," George says, his mouth crushed by Jaymi's shoulder.

" _And a back-up e-mail_ ," Jaymi insists.

George just nods and lets Jaymi slowly smother him until his mothering urges have subsided.

Even then, Jaymi keeps a hand on George at all times, like he's worried George is going teleport to a plane heading to the United States if he doesn't keep watch.

Finally, over a dinner of scrambled eggs and toast with Marmite and butter, because they don't seem to _have_ Marmite in America and George missed it sorely, he turns to Jaymi and noses his shoulder. "I'm not going away. I promise."

"I know that." Jaymi's arm tightens around George. "I just, I worry about you. You know I worry about you. And then you just left, and nobody could find you."

"I'm sorry," George said. "I really just didn't think, and it all happened quickly."

Jaymi sighs. "I know. I know, you're right, I know. Just don't want to let you wander off too far, I guess. Who knows when you'll wander right onto another plane."

George grins. "You do hate planes."

"I do. And I like having you around. So you getting on planes all the time is a recipe for me going grey early in life." Jaymi gives George a soft thwap on the back of his head. "So stop."

"I will, I will," George promises. "But it was worth it. I feel a lot better."

"You look a lot better, too. More... here." Jaymi squeezes him lightly. "More with yourself, if that makes sense."

George grins and leans in to whisper in Jaymi's ear. "I got a cage. My very own. To go in to not be in my head. So now I can be in my head."

He can feel Jaymi smile. "That's really exciting, George, really good," he says back, just as softly. "Did they let you pick it out?"

George nods and his eyes glow. "It's _so_ nice. I just want to sleep in it forever."

"Where are you keeping it? At their place?"

"At Harry's," George says. "In his room."

"That's good," says Jaymi quietly. "Er, are you, like, are you going to use it when they're not there?"

George frowns. "I don't know. I don't know whether I'd ever tell myself it was time to get out. It's very comfortable."

"Yeah, that's what I was worried about. So, when they're, like. Gone. Are you just not going to use it?" Jaymi asks. He sounds tentative.

George frowns. "I don't know. They said I could. We'll see if I want to, without them there." He smiles. "It matches the cage tattoo on Harry's ribs, so it's like – without him there, or them there, it'd be weird."

"Yeah, yeah. That's really sweet, Monkey." Jaymi gives him a smile and nudges his shoulder. "I'm really glad you're happy."

George grins at his plate and finishes scooping eggs onto his toast.

"We're going to watch a film tonight, probably," says Jaymi, propping his chin on George's shoulder. "Don't know if your boys like films. Must not be a very exciting life after they've been playing to sold out crowds of thousands."

George's nose wrinkles as he giggles. "Who doesn't like _films_?"

"I don't know, international pop sensations!" Jaymi tickles him. "Don't know them, do I? Maybe they hate films. Maybe they hate _ice cream_."

"No, we got ice cream," George says. "After we bought my cage."

Jaymi makes a strange face. "Your boys are odd."

"But they're mine." George grins at him. "Mine all mine."

"That they are," Jaymi agrees, and he pets George's hair until there's a knock at the hotel room door.

"Oh, I'll just get that then, shall I?" says Ella, rolling her eyes when none of the boys move a muscle. She makes a show of sweeping to the door and opening it while still sort of glaring at everyone else in the room.

George knows who it will be, but he hasn't slept well in about two days and he's dozy on his hotel bed with his feet rested in Jaymi's lap.

"Hi," he hears Ella greet, half-flustered and half-trying to be casual. "Er, sorry, the boys are lazy and. No, actually, I think lazy about covers it."

"That's alright, love." Louis voice makes George's toes wriggle. There's a little sound as he kisses both of Ella's cheeks. "How are you?"

"I'm really good," Ella says through a giggle. "Come on in, sorry about all the sequins."

"We don't mind a good sequin," Harry says. "If it were rhinestones, I might quibble, but sequins are alright."

"Not a rhinestone in sight," Ella assures, and then the door _snickt_ s closed. "Just billions of sequins."

George sits up sleepily to wave at Harry and Louis. "Guys, this is – Union J. Everyone else, that's Louis and Harry, which you already knew."

"We have all met before, Georgie," Harry says with amusement. "A few times, actually."

George considers this, then shrugs, letting his head fall on the mattress again. "Muh."

"Are you tired, babe?" Louis asks, and then there's a weight settling down near George's head. "Long flight, wasn't it?"

George nods, and Louis scoots a bit closer so he can lift George's head and shoulders to rest them across his thigh.

It's quite comfortable, actually, and George sighs, relaxing on his two-person makeshift bed.

He does grunt when Harry's heavy head plunks down on his full belly.

"I'm gonna be sick on you," he whines, rubbing Harry's head. "I just ate."

"Please don't," Harry says, sighing and settling down, eyes closed. "I'm too cozy for that."

George giggles a little, Harry's head bouncing on his belly, and Louis' thumb traces the dimple at the corner of George's mouth. Jaymi's hand comes to rest over the arch of George's foot as they all relax back on the bed to watch a film of Ella's choosing.

George's other J’s are on the other bed, but still close because the beds are close, and if he wanted he could reach out and touch Josh's arm or JJ's ankle.

Josh leans over a few times to show him new photos of the kitten, which are seemingly sent to him in real-time by his flatmate back in Winkfield. It is very cute, George thinks, and it makes Josh cuter for loving it.

JJ falls asleep in the middle of the film and Josh busies himself dropping pieces of popcorn into his mouth to see how many he can get in before JJ wakes up. Ella keeps up a count quietly, though she laughs after every one.

And George is with all of his favorite people, Jaymi's fingers tapping out a steady rhythm on his ankle, and Harry's hair tickling his chin, and Louis' face right in his line of vision. 

He's done it. He thinks, finally, he's found a place where he feels like he belongs.

And it's strange – if you'd asked him, on that first night in London, back in September when it was balmy and Union J were about favorites to lose and he was the G in a bunch of J's, alone at a club and not knowing how to fit in or how to dance or really, he knows now, how to be himself, he wouldn't have told you that he'd find it. It's his last night in London, the last night of his X Factor, and he's awake before the big show in a room full of people he loves, and people who love him, it's such a world away from feeling like the strangest in a room of strangers.

Nobody here is a stranger to him anymore. And more importantly, he's not a stranger to himself.

If this is the X Factor lifestyle... then George thinks, yeah, he's finally used to it.

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